Kiss Me Awake

by Julie Momyer

  Before she knew what was happening his hand clamped around her wrist and he jerked it up her back. She gasped, crying out for help. He yelled at her to be quiet then shoved her against the wall, her cheek smashing into the plaster.

  What the…? “What are you doing?” Were these cops dirty? Were they even cops at all?

  “What’s this?” He yanked the gun from her hand and shoved it in her face where she could see it, her head still pressed to the wall.

  Stupid, stupid; how could she be so stupid? She pressed her eyes closed, wincing when he jerked her arm further up her back, pain searing her shoulder. “It’s mine,” she said, her voice muffled against the wall.

  “Is it now?” He pressed his weight against her, leaning his face close to hers. “What’s your name?”

  “Jaida Martin.” And you’re cutting off my oxygen. “I have a permit.”

  The other cop joined in. “Do you live here?”

  “Yes.” What did they think, that she staged this? Or worse, that she vandalized the house and did away with the real owner?

  “I’m going to need some proof,” he said.

  And how was she supposed to provide proof with her face shoved into the wall? “Is this force necessary? You have the gun. This is all an honest mistake. If you’ll just let me explain…”

  “Where’s your ID?”

  “In my purse at the end of the hall.”

  “Wilson, go check it out.”

  “I know this looks bad, and I understand your alarm,” she said. “But someone was in my house. I didn’t even realize I was still holding the gun.”

  “Why were you hiding it behind your back?”

  “Not hiding, holding. It wasn’t a conscious choice, I just was that’s all.” Her argument sounded lame, even to her. But it was the truth.

  The patio gate clanked shut. Auggie! He was here! Thank God! He would set these two straight.

  Dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, he appeared in the foyer and took in the scene. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “What are you doing to her?”

  Officer Reynolds barked at him to stay where he was, spittle spattering the side of her face. She had this guy good and scared, which didn’t bode well for her.

  Warm tears spilled down her cheeks and she laughed. She was hysterical and her untimely outburst earned her another painful body slam against the wall. Auggie was right. She was too much trouble, and without even trying. No wonder he wanted to marry her off.

  “That’s what we’d like to know. Your friend here planned to pull a gun on us.”

  “That’s a lie!” she said.

  “There’s obviously been a mistake. If you let her go, I’m sure we can clear everything up in a satisfactory manner.” Calm and professional, Auggie was handling this well, but then he wasn’t the one being roughed up.

  She heard Wilson’s approach, his radio squawking. “This is her house all right, and she has a permit.”

  Reynolds was reluctant, she could sense his hesitation, but he eased away from her, his hand still tight around her wrist.

  Wilson eyed Auggie. “Who are you, and what’s your business with this woman?” Her wallet was still flung open in his hand. She wanted to reach for it, take what was hers, but she thought better of it.

  “Name’s Auggie Garcia.” He flashed his identification and Wilson snatched it from him. “I’m head detective at Baseel Detective Agency, and Miss Martin here works for me.”

  Wilson looked it over and nodded at Reynolds, confirming his identity then handed it back. Reynolds released her then, his hand sliding from her wrist. “I don’t take it lightly when I encounter a victim and they’re concealing a loaded weapon.”

  “I didn’t…”

  He raised his hands silencing her. “I could take you in, press charges, but I’m going to let it go this time. I hope you learned something from this?”

  She rubbed the raw skin at her wrist then nodded, holding her tongue, refraining from offering her side of it. If his scolding tone was the worst she endured for her gaffe, she was getting off easy.

  “That your cat?” Wilson asked glancing in the direction of the slain animal.

  Auggie left her side and reappeared with a chair from the dining room. He set it in the foyer where they stood. “Sit down,” he said, nudging her arm.

  She did as he asked, then shook her head in answer to Wilson’s question. “It’s a stray I took in. The owner came for it yesterday.”

  “If the owner already claimed it, why is it in your house?” Reynolds asked.

  Jaida dropped her head to her hands. She wanted to scream that she didn’t know why it was in her house. Wasn’t it their job to find out?

  Auggie touched her head lightly, his voice soft. “It’s okay, Jaida. Just take a deep breath and tell them what happened.”

  It took every ounce of her strength to compose herself, but she managed to do it. She lifted her face and looked Reynolds in the eye. “I think the man who came for the kitten was the one who did this. I don’t think that it really belonged to him.” She started to tremble but her voice held steady. “He used it to get to me…to my house.”

  “And why would he want to do this, ma’am?”

  She blinked, confused. “I don’t know.”

  Wilson asked, “Any broken windows or busted locks?”

  “I haven’t checked,” she said. There were no lights. At least she’d thought that at the time.

  “Did he come to the front door?” Auggie asked, joining in the questioning.

  She nodded.

  He stepped around her and knelt in front of the open door, sliding his hands over the doorjamb. “No sign of forced entry,” he said.

  He squinted inside the latch opening. Then reached into his pants pocket, produced a small knife and flicked it open, using it to pry something out of the hole.

  “This would be the point of entry,” he announced, holding up a smooth piece of steel. It was small enough to hide in the socket but large enough to keep the door from sealing tight.

  That was why the man had requested a glass of water. It gave him the opportunity to jam her lock. But her alarm should have notified her that the door wasn’t latched.

  Auggie dropped the first piece of evidence inside a small plastic bag. “It’s probably too small to pick up a full print.”

  It was then that Jaida remembered the water glass she set aside. “That glass on the counter should have a clean set of his prints.”

  She stood and hurried to the kitchen, found the box of gallon-size Ziploc bags and handed him one. “He asked for a drink,” she said. “He said he was thirsty.”

  He picked up the glass with a dishtowel and held it up to the dining room light. “Perfect.” He slipped it inside the bag then sealed the top.

  Wilson came down the stairs. “Whoever did this is long gone.” He wrote something down on a pad glancing up at Jaida. “They were definitely looking for something. Any idea what?”

  Auggie caught her eye, silencing anything she might have said with a slight shake of his head. She frowned.

  “No. I have no idea what they were after.” She looked back at Auggie who handed over the bagged glass to Reynolds. Why didn’t he want them to know?

  Auggie came up beside her. “Why don’t you pack a bag and I’ll book you a room? We’ll sort through this mess in the morning.”

  She nodded and did as he asked. It was probably for the best.

  25

  It was a small hotel, privately owned, and tucked away at the end of a residential street. It was safe. That’s the way Auggie described it. He turned from the counter handing her the key card then took the overnight bag she clutched in her hands.

  “You’re in room 125,” he said then started down the hall,his swiftstride leaving her in the dust.

  She quickened her steps to keep up. “Where’s the fire?”She looked upat himfor an answer, but he only grunted.

  Washe angry with her? He’d hardly said a word on the drive
over. She supposed he had a right to be. She had interrupted his evening to bail her out of yet another mess.

  The hall they tramped down was narrow, but the light-colored walls made it feel broader than it was. They edged closer to the wall, single file, allowing another couple to pass. She agreed to this too quickly she decided. She didn’t need to hide out in a hotel.

  “Take me home,” she said.

  “No.” He shot her a quick glance then turned a staunch face forward.

  “We both overreacted. Whoever it was that broke in isn’t coming back.”

  “It’s one night, Jaida. It won’t kill you.” Her bag banged against his shin. He lifted it up and stuffed it under his arm, muttering a curse. “Besides, I already dropped eighty bucks on the room.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” she argued. “I need a friend not a parent.”

  “What you need is some common sense.”

  What was with the insults? “What’s bothering you?”

  He snorted. “Are you serious? A butchered cat in your house, your furniture shredded by some maniac, and you ask what’s bothering me?”

  “It’s more than that.” She gripped his arm, but he shrugged her off. “Talk to me. Why are you so upset?”

  “This is my fault.” His throat worked. “If something happened to you…”

  His fault? “You’re not making sense. How is this your fault?”

  His jaw hardened, but he didn’t answer.

  Whatever he was warring against was winning. If it would ease his mind, she would do as he asked. Like he said, one night wouldn’t hurt her.

  Tired, Jaida slowed down and followed a half step behind, past the ice machine, the vending machines. He stopped abruptly and dropped her bag in front of her door.

  “Do not leave here. I’ll be by in the morning and we’ll go back to your place together.”

  She nodded. “Alright.”

  His face softened. “You gonna be okay?”

  “I always am.” She tipped her chin up. He chucked it, and she jerked it away.

  Jaida watched him walk back the way they came, the usual swagger in his stride and his cocky demeanor were doused by something unseen. But whatever was troubling him, he wasn’t sharing.

  She turned and slid the card in the slot surprised he hadn’t done that for her too. The light blinked green, and she pushed the door open.

  “Home sweet home.” She turned on the light, looked at the outdated furnishings and frowned. If a room could be called frumpy, it was.

  Two double beds draped in brown bedspreads were along the wall to her right. She dropped her overnight bag and purse on the bed closest to the door. There was a clock and a lamp with an orange shade on the nightstand.

  She turned on the television with the remote then tossed it on the bed and went into the bathroom. It was compact, but clean and smelled of disinfectant. She unwrapped a bar of complimentary soap and washed her face, then fetching her toothbrush and toothpaste from her bag, she brushed her teeth and swallowed two aspirins with a cup of tap water.

  Jaida left the bathroom and turned on another light, her mind churning with haunting images of the dead kitten. Just how far would Gale take this?

  She paced the worn carpet and then went to the window. Lifting the curtains, she looked out. The parking lot was only partially full. Auggie was gone. She told him that she was safe in her own home, but was she?

  Maybe it was time to call Spencer and request his help. By tomorrow morning, she would have a cashier’s check in her hand, and this would all end. She released the drapes, letting them fall back into place. The remedy was simple enough, but she still couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  She sank down on the edge of the bed and aimed the remote at the television, raising the volume. A man’s face filled the screen, his scripted words urging her to call their toll-free number for a free credit report.

  Numb, she slid her shoes off with her toes and scooted to the top of the mattress then leaned back against the pillows. The shock was just too much to process.

  The window unit shuddered, the ancient appliance giving its all to keep the room cool. Fatigue pressed down on her eyelids, and they slid closed. The newscaster on TV reported on the storm damage over hurricane-force winds rising up out of the south.

  She should say a prayer for the residents, for their safety. Her mother, Eva would have. They would have joined hands and lifted up their voices together. It seemed a lifetime ago that her heart was soft and her faith sincere. When she still believed that God was a God who answered.

  When she packed her bag tonight, she came across the Bible Eva left for her. She’d brought it along, tucked it inside the bag, under her change of clothing.

  She had kept it hidden away at the back of the closet shelf. Tonight was the first time she’d picked it up since her mom had passed, the first time she even came close to keeping the promise she had made to read it.

  Jaida opened her eyes. Flecks of glitter sparkled in the popcorn ceiling. Her own pursuits had lost their sparkle and left her wanting. She rolled from the bed, dug the Bible out of her bag then lay back down with it, the pillows swallowing her up.

  She flipped the book open. A frayed purple ribbon was caught in the crease. Had the page been marked for a purpose? She propped her knees up and balanced the book across them then began by reading the verses that were highlighted in yellow. She would read a few of them and be done with it, promise fulfilled.

  “In You O Lord, I put my trust; Let me never be put to shame. Deliver me in Your righteousness, and cause me to escape.”

  Could she ever trust God as the psalmist did? Did she want to? She reread the verse a few times, memorizing the words and absorbing the meaning, then flipped the pages until she found more highlighted verses.

  “Your close friends have set upon you and prevailed against you; Your feet have sunk in the mire. And they have turned away again.”

  What had her mom found in these lines that moved her to permanently mark them? Were they a glimpse of her struggles? Did they encourage her? Bring her hope when she had no hope?

  Flimsy pages rustled beneath anxious fingertips. Verse after verse, line after line, Jaida read on, her motive shifting from keeping a promise to feeding a newfound hunger that gnawed at her soul.

  The book of Ezekiel was riddled with highlighted verses, and notes were penned in blue ink along the margins. It must have held some significance.

  “An Allegory of Unfaithful Jerusalem.” Jaida skimmed the heading of the sixteenth chapter then read the sentences overlaid in yellow.

  “But you trusted in your beauty and used your fame to become a prostitute. You lavished your favors on anyone who passed by and your beauty became his.”

  Tiny pricks stung her eyes and the words blurred. It was for Jerusalem, it was for her. It was for the unfaithful. It was for her.

  She wanted to be wanted. But the men, the relationships, they were never enough. Want was shallow; love was deep, and she had settled for the lesser.

  Truth rubbed like coarse salt at the raw spot alternately aching and soothing, cleansing the blackness and rousing small sparks of life to a soul that had been dead for too long. She wept. God, please help me. Please forgive me.

  Jaida slid the Bible from her lap and pushed it away. This was too much, too fast. She needed to get out of here, needed some air to clear her head. She slipped her shoes on and reached for the key card, stopping abruptly when she saw the yellowed Scotch tape curling up at the edges inside the back cover of the Bible.

  What was this? She wiped her eyes and dropped the key card on the table then picked up the Bible, curious at the envelope that was taped inside. She scraped a thumbnail over the edges of the peeling tape and pried it away from the lining. Inside was a handwritten letter. It was four pages long and addressed to her.

  Before she’d read through the first page she was crying again. When her mother said the Bible held the truth, she wasn’t just referring to the Scriptures.


  26

  Carina was sniffing around as though she was on the scent of something big, and it was making Auggie nervous. What did she know?

  Close on his heels, she followed him down the concrete steps of his second-story studio to where his Expedition was parked at the curb. He twisted the crick from his neck and opened the car door. He had to get to Jaida before she did.

  “Have you heard anything, anything at all?” she asked. “I’m worried. Jaida stood me up last night, and she’s not answering her phone.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “I heard you five minutes ago when you asked me the first time.”

  “But you never answered me.”

  He offered just enough to quiet her. “She’s fine,” he said. “Rough night, that’s all. She needed some time away.”

  She pressed her palms against the fender and leaned in. “You know where she is then.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you do know don’t you?”

  For the first time since she came to his door asking about Jaida, he really looked at her. She was dressed down. The typical dark, tailored power suit she grilled her victims in was replaced with designer jeans and an orange knit shirt, the sleeves cut out at the shoulders.

  “Not working today?” he asked.

  Her laugh was low. “I’m not thrown off that easy. Now, where is she?”

  It wouldn’t serve either of them to engage her. Neither one would be satisfied with the results. He slid behind the wheel, closed the door, and started the engine. He half smiled at the look on Carina’s face; the shock, dismay, and then the fury, her eyes lit up like two fiery coals.

  She pounded her fist on the hood, yelling curses at him, the sound filtered by the sealed windows, but he read her lips loud and clear. “Tell me where she is!”

  She ran to her car parked two vehicles down from his. He pulled out onto the street and hit the accelerator hard.

  *

  Jaida stood under the shade of the palm tree, her gaze fixed on the bronze marker at her feet. She finally got what she’d been fighting for, but with it came no triumph.