In the Shadow of Love

by Annie Bruce

  Both boys ran towards the garage to get their camping equipment, which sat packed for over a week. They checked each day to make sure it stayed that way.

  “Max,” she touched his arm and for a moment she felt the love they’d share when they first married. “You’re a good father and the boys love you.” Her eyes begged him to understand, “–and they need you.”

  He placed a hand over hers.

  “Everything else will work itself out,” her voice soothing and sincere.

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on dad, let’s go.”

  “Okay, sons, I’m coming.”

  Camping equipment, two boys, and one dad drove off twenty minutes later. Watching from her front door she waved until their vehicle disappeared around the corner.

  She chocked back her tears as a combined sense of loss and loneliness threatened to overwhelm her. The emotional tug of missing her sons mixed with sadness that her marriage had ended. She longed for a loving partner, but she and Max married too young. Her boys meant everything in the world to her, getting her through one of the loneliest and saddest periods of her life.

  With the door closed she leaned against its sturdy frame, collecting her thoughts and reigning in her emotions. Pushing herself away from its support, she headed towards the kitchen for a second and much needed cup of coffee.

  Steaming mug in hand, she wandered towards the boxes of documents that had dominated a corner of her kitchen for the past several months. The answer had to be in this pile of frustration. It just had to be!

  “Anderson Corporation.” She wondered why it was so important. “Well, only one way to find out.” She began to dig.

  Time escaped her attention as she buried herself in the reams of information Owen had given her. Her head jerked up at the ringing of the door bell. Looking at the clock in horror she realized how late it was. She hadn’t showered or changed. A quick and frantic look at her reflection in the decorative mirror hanging in the kitchen told her she looked like she’d been through hell and back. She didn’t feel much better.

  Peering through the security hole in the door she saw Morris standing on the other side. Straightening her hair as best she could she opened the door to greet him.

  Driving faster than he should, Morris raced to get back to Maggie. He pulled his vehicle in front of her house and waited to collect his thoughts. He didn’t want to appear anxious as he walked more casually than he felt up to her front door and rang the bell. After a few minutes passed he worried that she wasn’t home. He reached for his cell phone just as the door pulled open.

  “Hi!” A frazzled looking Maggie greeted him, her hair mussed and uncombed.

  He looked around as he stepped over the threshold. “Where are the boys?”

  “They left with their father for spring break.”

  “Oh.” His heart skipped a beat. It was just the two of them.

  “Look, I have to get cleaned up. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. There’s coffee and I’ve pulled out everything I could find on the Anderson Corporation.”

  He wandered in the direction of the kitchen invited by the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

  “Are you–” his words died off as he saw her fleeing up the stairs. The sound of running water soon followed.

  He surveyed the piles of documents neatly organized on the kitchen table, the Anderson Corporation Logo brightly displayed on one of the piles.

  The familiar sound of a shower hummed above. He smiled to himself taking in how comfortable he felt here in Maggie’s kitchen. It was like being home. He reminded himself that there was still much work to be done. His fantasies would have to wait.

  Thumbing through the stacks of paper he noticed that she had organized them by types of documents: financials, memos, letters, and e-mails. He was impressed. Maggie had done a very thorough job.

  “Those are the most interesting.” Her voice startled him. He didn’t hear her come into the room, not a good thing for a detective. He was relaxing around her a little too much.

  “How so?”

  “Let me show you.” Her voice was excited as she pulled one of the other chairs close and sat down. She smelled fresh and clean. Her body was less than an inch away from his. She reached an arm across the table and brushed up against him.

  “This stack represents a series of transactions from Owen’s company the two months before the Strong family was murdered.” Her voice was full of energy. “And this stack shows all the transactions since the murder.” She laid the two piles of papers next to each other. “And this one shows everything since the day Owen was suspicious of forged activity.”

  Morris didn’t know where she was going with this but he didn’t interrupt, wanting to hear every word she had to say.

  “Six months before the murder is the first time the Anderson Corporation is named in any of the documents and,” she paused for dramatic emphasis, “Mr. Strong is listed as one of the principals on the incorporation documents.” Her finger rested on a piece of paper, pointing for emphasis.

  He nodded in understanding. It was one of the morsels of information he’d stumbled upon in his own search of the records.

  “Go on.”

  “Why would a lower level supervisor be listed as a principal for a subsidiary of a major corporation?” She turned to the middle stack of papers. “Because he didn’t know.” Maggie paused to take a breath. Her demeanor changed from exuberance to sadness. “At least not at first.”

  The image of the young Strong girl lying in a pool of her own blood flashed before his eyes. The crime scene photos were vivid and he was thankful Maggie hadn’t seen them.

  “This stack of papers has Mr. Strong’s signature authorizing all sorts of sales and expenditures to two different companies.” She took a deep breath and pointed to the large pile of documents in the center. “And this stack contains documents dated after Owen became suspicious.”

  The relevance was lost on him but again he refrained from interjecting as she laid each document on the table. He eyed each carefully looking for the smoking gun.

  His first review yielded only frustration. On the second pass it hit him like a lightening bolt. The third document in the parade of papers on the table took a starring role. Maggie sensed his moment of discovery.

  “That’s right.” She picked up the document in question. “An invoice for supposed non-sensitive industrial supplies to a supposed authorized foreign country signed by none other than Mr. Phillip Strong.” Then a deep sigh. “Three months after his death!”

  The initial excitement on her face reminded him of how he used to feel about solving cases before he became jaded over the routine occurrence of death and destruction. He felt the excitement of his job again – and, he was sharing it with a beautiful woman.

  “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

  Her voice was beautiful too.

  “Have you traced the fictitious companies?” He knew she had even as he asked the question.

  “Right here.” She left the table, grabbing more documents from the counter.

  She could hardly contain her excitement as she sat down beside him. “I remembered some documents that had Owen’s signature on them but weren’t written or authorized by him.” She carefully moved the other piles of papers out of their way.

  “Whoa, whoa,” now Morris needed to interrupt. “What do you mean signed by him but not written by him.” He knew that she was a forensic linguist but apparently he didn’t truly understand what that meant.

  “Let me show you.” She moved in closer to him. It was intoxicating – and distracting.

  “Here are some letters that Owen wrote over the years to family, friends, business associates and for work. I know these are genuine because he either hand-wrote them or his assistant typed them for his signature which he then authenticated.”

  He didn’t see the relevance but listened carefully.

  “These are documents produced on a computer where Owen’s si
gnature has been scanned in or an auto-signature machine has been used. He brought these to me when he first suspected something was wrong.”

  It was like taking a trip without a map or destination, but she was undeterred. “I compared the word usage in the known letters to the suspicious ones. They were written by completely different people!”

  “Are you sure?” He was definitely intrigued.

  “Yes, and I can prove it too.” She pulled out her laptop and booted it up. It went through the customary flashing of software startup screens before resting on its iconic desktop. She launched one of the many programs displayed.

  “This is a program that measures reading and word choice levels. The first document,” she grabbed it from the stack, “–the one that Owen dictated to his assistant is at a completely different writing level than the others.” His expression begged for clarification.

  “Owen has always had a good rapport with everyday people,” she continued, her voice excited, “and his choice of words made it so he could talk to anybody without them feeling as if he was talking down to them. His writing style is the same, which is unusual. Most people talk differently than they write, but not Owen.”

  “The other letters are at a more formal, almost procedural level. Not Owen’s style at all. Here, I’ll use this one as an example.” Reaching across the table her upper body stretched in front of him. Instinctively he reached out to help her causing their hands to touch. Currents of sexual energy ran through him and left him weak. He was glad that he was sitting down.

  His breath fanned against the side of her face. She turned her head ever so slightly, but it was enough. Their mouths touched unexpectedly. There was nothing they could do to stop it, even if they wanted to. Neither of them did.

  It was a kiss that was long overdue. He felt her body melting against his. He caressed her arms, her shoulders and then his hands found their way to the sides of her face. He turned her so that she was now facing him completely and pulled her up and away from the table. Her body folded into his as if they were the two parts needed to make them whole.

  Somewhere in the back of Maggie’s brain a little voice screamed that it was too soon to get involved, too soon to fall in love, but she couldn’t resist, couldn’t pull away. It was where she wanted to be.

  Then as suddenly as it started, the kiss ended.

  “I’m sorry.” Morris tone was rough, his voice broken. She could feel him struggle as he willed himself to pull away from her, but he didn’t let her go. Not completely.

  “I’m not.” Did she really say that! Cautious Maggie! The one who swore never to get involved with anyone ever again?

  His arms tightened around her once again then he pulled back just enough to hold her face in his hands. He stared long and lovingly into her eyes.

  “You’re very beautiful.” She held her breath wanting more. His lips trailed across hers and excitement coursed through her body like fire. The rush of it was intoxicating, lasting only a moment before he put some distance between them.

  “When this is all over,” his breathing was ragged, “if you still feel the same way,” he took a deep breath, “we’ll do it right.”

  His words left Maggie with a yearning and hunger that was fueled by the lingering warmth of his body against her skin. She wasn’t sure she could wait until this investigation was over. Looking up into his eyes for reassurance he didn’t meet her gaze.

  “I need a moment,” he cleared his throat, “and then I think we need to get back to the investigation.”

  Disappointment flooded through her, his words dousing her passion like a bucket of cold water. She didn’t want to get back to the investigation. She wanted to be loved and held and cherished. She tried to think of something to say but couldn’t. She was left staring at his back as he left the room. A feeling of rejection threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Stop that!” Stomping her foot she chastised herself thinking she was still alone.

  “Maggie?” Morris’ voice brought her around to reality. “Is everything okay?”

  “Er, fine. Just fine!” Her previously good mood had soured. “Let’s just get this done and over with, okay?”

  “Maggie, look, I–”

  “No, don’t!” Her hand went up to silence him. She just knew she’d break down if he said another word about their brief but erotic encounter. Her emotions ran wild as she tried to sort through everything that had changed in the short time she had known him. She just couldn’t take him being sweet and understanding. Not now.

  “You’re right,” she continued. “We need to finish with the investigation.” Her voice held a tone of professionalism she didn’t feel. Gathering her strength she sat down at the table. “Now where were we?”

  The next few hours passed excruciatingly slow. Maggie’s demeanor yelled - HALT, stay out! Struggling with his own surge of confusing emotions, Morris fought against a strong sense of loss. Shoving aside his uneasiness he took Maggie’s lead and hoped that they could work everything out once this case was solved and put in the closed-case files for good.

  Despite the distractions they had accomplished a lot. Maggie had put together a detailed analysis and writing profile of the people who had forged documents and setup the dummy companies funneling money and materials illegally through a maze of bureaucracy.

  Now, as with DNA, they needed to find somebody for comparison. Her talents as a document examiner and forensic linguist were impressive. In a fairly short period of time she had boiled down the evidence to the necessary indicators and clues that he was convinced would ultimately help solve the case.

  Suddenly, she pushed herself away from the table interrupting his concentration. “Well, I can’t look at another piece of paper today.” She stood and stretched her arms above her head. She glanced at her watch as she lowered her arms.

  “Is it really that late?” Her stomach growled.

  “Yes, it’s really that late.” He tried to sense her mood. “The least I can do is buy you dinner.”

  Maggie wasn’t expecting an invitation to dinner, especially from someone who she had just treated so coldly. Images of her moping around the past few hours flashed through her mind and she realized just how horrible it must have been for him – and, he still wanted to buy her dinner!

  Laughter burst from her lips and she couldn’t stop.

  “I didn’t know that having dinner with me would be so amusing.” He actually sounded hurt.

  “It isn’t–,” she fumbled over her words. “I didn’t mean to – look, I’m sorry about the way I’ve treated you the past few hours.”

  He looked surprised.

  “Friends?” She extended a hand and when he touched her she felt that earlier spark of attraction

  “Friends.”

  Even a friendly handshake made currents run through her physical being and his body language told her he felt the same.

  Looking for a distraction, Maggie turned to clear the kitchen table.

  “Let’s order in.” Keeping her back to him while she fought to regain her composure, she continued, “I know a great Chinese place that delivers.” She couldn’t bear for him to see her disappointment if he said no.

  “Okay.” It was almost a whisper.

  Turning to face him, she looked him in the eye to gauge his reaction. “That way, if we want to discuss anything, we don’t have to worry that someone will over hear us.”

  “Good idea.” His tone was guarded.

  “Okay, then, I’ll give them a call.” She reached into a bin on the wall and pulled out a slightly crumpled brochure that served as a menu and handed it to him. Bold letters at the top announced, Mr. Wong’s China Palace.

  “Anything in particular you’d like?” Grabbing the phone she dialed without looking for the number. “Boys and I love this place.” It was obvious that she’d use this take-out service many times before. “And, they don’t use MSG! It’s all fresh.”

  “Whatever you order is fine with me.” He was more o
f a steak and potatoes man – her palate apparently more experienced than his.

  Morris had never heard a woman as enthusiastic about food before as he listened while she placed their order.

  “Here,” she handed him a bottle of wine. “You’re in charge of drinks.”

  He studied the label - a California Merlot. She pulled a cork screw out of a drawer and grabbed two wine glasses from an overhead rack.

  “Follow me.” Leaving the kitchen she headed towards the living room and placed the dishes on a low table in the middle of the room then turned to take the wine glasses from him.

  The table was beautiful with rich tones of a reddish brown wood. He hadn’t noticed it the first time he was in this room.

  “It’s Koa wood.” She answered his unasked question. “From Hawaii.”

  “Aw.” It was mouthed more than said.

  She stroked its smooth surface. “I got this on a trip to the University in Honolulu when I did some consulting there.”

  She turned to light a fire. She had already lit one inside of him and he was hungry to put it out. He watched her move smoothly around the room getting everything ready, mesmerized by her graceful moves.

  Then the door bell rang.

  “And that would be our dinner. Open the wine so it can breathe a little.” The last part was tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

  He stayed in the living room absorbing the warmth of the fire. He felt at home and it felt good. Almost too good. Warning bells sounded in his head. He should leave while he was still in control of himself.

  The sound of the front door closing was followed by her return to the cozy atmosphere of the living room. She was gone only a few moments and in that short period of time he missed her. He knew it was crazy but he had missed her.

  Tonight they were alone, no interruptions, just them and take-out from Mr. Wong’s China Palace. He poured two glasses of wine and set them on the table.

  Kicking off her shoes, Maggie folded herself onto the floor with the agility of a young girl. Feeling a little awkward trying to mimic her gymnastic efforts he somehow managed to curl himself on the floor, legs crossed beneath the table, without cutting off his circulation. It was clear he needed to add more flexibility training to his workout schedule.