“I said I’m sorry,” he repeated, handing her the basket.
“I heard you. I’m just accustomed to being argued with.”
“Am I forgiven?”
“Of course.” She smiled, and as usual the effect hit him right in the gut.
She cocked her head, listening. “I hear a phone. Must be yours.”
“Mine,” Judd repeated absently. Why was it all she had to do was smile, and he was dazed? He patted his pockets. “Mine?”
No one knew his number but Charlie and Mrs. Cush. He released his hold on the basket and raced up the steps to the cell he’d left charging on the counter.
“Wait. You dropped your wallet.”
The door hit the wall as he pushed past to grab the ringing phone.
”Judd.” Charlie’s trademark deep and scratchy voice spilled into the room. “You’ve got problems.”
“What?” Judd panted.
“She did it again.”
“What do you mean?” Judd asked the question, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“I mean there’s been another facility breach, and the trace is to her computer.”
“When?”
“Middle of the night.”
Judd’s stomach sank. “What’s the damage?”
“None. Didn’t touch a thing.”
“That’s crazy! Why would someone go to the trouble of breaking into a secure facility site and not touch anything?”
“That’s what I sent you to find out. What are you doing besides sending me bills?”
“Yeah, well, you neglected to tell me a few things.”
“I’m supposed to neglect to tell you a few things. You’re the investigator.”
Judd balked and slapped a hand on the counter. “Give me a break. We both know I don’t know what I’m doing. Tell me again why I’m here?”
“Think of it as a personal favor to me.”
Personal. As in don’t-ask-any-questions, because Charlie didn’t get personal. The number two reason why Judd maintained his loyalty to the man. “Right.” Judd answered.
“The government wants this contract ready to go by the first of the year. That means everything has to be secure. If you don’t find out what’s going on down there, I’m going to have to call Homeland Security in, whether I like it or not. I don’t have to tell you that I don’t like it. That’s why I sent you.”
Judd whistled.
Time.
He needed time.
“You dropped your wallet.”
Judd whirled around to see the subject of his conversation standing in his doorway. Samantha, her ponytail askew, shot him a sweet, sweet smile as she held his wallet. He ended the call and slipped the phone into his back pocket.
“Wrong number,” he mumbled.
Judd stuffed the master keys into his pocket. He slipped into the stairwell and crept in stealth mode to Samantha’s apartment. While he was certain she was gone, he wasn’t taking any chances. Couldn’t let the creaky old building give him away to the rest of his kooky housemates.
Up since six a.m., he itched to get on with his investigation. It wasn’t until eight-thirty, well into his second pot of Gold Coast Blend when he finally heard the building’s front door open and close.
He’d stood at his window, watching Samantha help the tenant in apartment number one maneuver the front stairs. She hovered over the little silver-haired, deaf woman who clutched a Bible under her arm. They were going to church. That meant she’d be gone for at least two hours, maybe longer. He silently prayed for a long-winded sermon.
Inch by inch, he pulled the key chain from his pocket, muffling the sound against his hand.
“Judd!”
He startled, and the keys slipped through his fingers and crashed onto the floor.
Mr. Chung approached from his apartment down the hall. Garfield Chung scooped up the keys and tossed them back.
“Thanks,” Judd said.
“Just the man I’m looking for.” He clapped Judd on the back in a fatherly fashion. “I’ve just made a batch of crepes and hoped you’d join me for breakfast.”
Judd’s stomach answered loudly and reminded him of the cold toaster pastry he’d abandoned upstairs. If Chung’s crepes were as good as his bread, he’d regret turning down the invitation.
“I have to fix that sticky door jamb for Samantha.”
“Come on, come on. It can wait. It’s already waited at least a year. What’s the rush now?” Chung rubbed his hands together. “Did I mention brandied cherry sauce?”
Okay, so he’d scarf down some crepes and then check out Samantha’s place. After all, she would most likely follow church with a Sunday pilgrimage to her mother’s for dinner. There was plenty of time to check out the apartment and the computer in question.
Two hours later Judd stumbled from Garfield’s apartment loaded down with leftovers. He leaned precariously to the left. There was no way he could walk a straight line after that breakfast.
As a rule, he didn’t imbibe, and he sure hadn’t ever gotten inebriated eating breakfast. Alcohol was supposed to burn off when cooked. How much brandy had Chung put in that sauce? He’d be lucky if he made it up the stairs to his place without a designated driver.
It took all his concentration to get the foil-covered bowls into the refrigerator. Task completed, he leaned against the wall for balance as he fought to keep his eyes open. The eyes balked, as did his body, which refused to remain upright.
He slid down the wall.
Maybe a short nap before he gave Samantha’s place the once-over.
A short one.
Judd shivered. Why was it so cold? Frigid air continued to blast him. Was he back on assignment in Juneau?
He blinked and stared at what appeared to be the out-of-focus interior of a refrigerator. Patting the ground around him, he retrieved his glasses.
Hello! It was the refrigerator.
A glance at his watch made him cringe. Three o’clock.
At this rate Samantha, would be in jail very soon for a crime he prayed she hadn’t committed.
His head throbbed and his tongue was thick. After a thorough search of his duffel bag, he found a bottle of aspirin and chased two pills down with water.
Grabbing the carpenter’s belt, he headed for Samantha’s. This time he wouldn’t be deterred.
A quiet calm filled the hall. Chung no doubt was asleep. The tart aroma of the silent but deadly crepes lingered in the air, a reminder of just how dangerous his neighbors were. Judd slid the key into the lock and turned, then gently opened the door.
“Whud are you doing?” a hoarse Elmer Fudd voice called out.
Samantha?
Judd turned. “Samantha? What’s wrong with your voice?”
He tried. Tried his best not to stare, because although her nose was red and she was covered from neck to ankle in a pink flannel nightgown with some sort of cartoon characters on all over, Samantha looked adorable.
“Cowd,” she said with disgust, modestly scooting behind the back of the couch. “Whud are you doing here?”
He held up the tool belt. “I came to fix your door.”
“Oh, Judd, how thweet of you!” She honked her nose loudly on a tissue.
Yeah, right, and if she only knew search and seize were in his plans, she probably wouldn’t be standing there thinking good thoughts about him.
“Achoo!” The sneeze set dust-balls in motion.
“This isn’t a good time.” He stated the obvious.
“No, it’s fine.” She sniffed and cleared her nose again on the wad of tissues in her hand.
“Can I get you anything?”
“You don’t happen to have any decongestant in your apartment, do you?”
“No. Wait, yeah, I do. I’ll be right back.”
Judd raced back up the stairs. There was a container of meds in one of his boxes. Somewhere. Three upended packing boxes later he found what he was digging for. Holding up the red first-aid kit, he surveyed the me
ss around him.
He opened the lid of the box. Well, it was cold medicine all right. The once white box was faded an almost cheerful yellow. Decidedly old cold medicine. The expiration date agreed with him. 1999. Judd reached for the phone.
He pushed open the door to Sam’s apartment with his foot.
“Judd?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you get lost?” She sat on the couch, her legs demurely curled beneath her. In twenty minutes, she’d changed into jeans and a long sleeved navy T-shirt, and her long hair was pulled back into a braid.
Women were funny. Like the outfit she had on now was somehow more modest than the head-to-toe flannel nightgown.
“What is all that?” she asked.
He struggled to shut the front door behind him and balance the two large plastic grocery sacks. “Ah, I couldn’t find the medicine, so I ran to the drugstore.”
Sliding the bags on her small coffee table, he pulled items out. Chicken soup, several varieties of cold-medicine, cough drops, thermometer, heating pad, and vaporizer.She looked from the supplies spread across the table to Judd. The sentiment revealed in her eyes was worth the effort.
“No big deal. I just wanted to make sure you had everything you need.”
“Judd, this isn’t terminal. It’s a cold.”
“You sound better,” he said.
“Steam shower. A temporary fix.”
Her cell phone rang, and Samantha reached for it.
“Mom, I’m okay. No, I don’t need anything. Judd from upstairs went to the drugstore for me. Yes. I knew Michael would mention Judd.” She shook her head. “I have everything I need for every medical emergency from now until the next millennium. Nobody needs to come over. I was just going to take a nap. Sure, I’ll call. Love you.”
Judd watched her animated features as he folded the plastic bags. Oh, he’d bet Michael told the troops about him.
“Better let you take your nap,” he said as she set down the phone.
“No, I don’t need a nap. That was a little exaggeration to keep the troops at bay.”
He assessed her flushed face and bright eyes. “You know, you don’t look too hot to me.”
“Thanks a lot,” she muttered. “I’ll just take two of those decongestants and do my menus for next week. You go ahead and fix the door. I’ve taken enough of your time up.”Judd grabbed the box of tablets. “I’ll get the water. You sit down and rest.”
“I’m not an invalid.”
“Yeah, I know. You’re just not used to anyone else giving the orders.” He headed to the left.
Samantha cleared her throat. “The kitchen is over there,” she gestured with a hand. Her voice came out raspy, throaty, and strangely seductive, in an upper respiratory sort of way.
He returned with the water and held out the tablets. She sneezed several times in succession while holding a dozen tissues in front of her face. He’d never actually taken care of a sick person before. For all he knew, this could be really serious.
“Maybe you should let your mother come over to take care of you.”
Stop looking at me like that.” Samantha glared at him and snatched the pills. “It’s a cold.” Grabbing the glass, she downed the medicine. “Go fix the door.”
Judd set to work on the hinges, periodically studying Samantha, who sat nestled on the couch writing in a large notebook.
“I’m fine,” she said, not looking up.
“Did I say anything?”
Judd got out his tools and assessed the door.
“What sounds better to you? Salmon with a side of risotto or sirloin tips with a baked potato?”
“Depends on who you’re feeding. Little old ladies or linebackers?”
“Neither. Policemen. Third precinct Christmas party.”
“Beef.” He tried the lock. “You do the cooking down at The Irish Pub?”
“I handle the parties. I went to a college for culinary arts. I’m actually a chef by profession.”
He looked at her. “A chef? So why are you working at the pub?”
Samantha shrugged. “I like working with my family.”
“Seems a little under challenging considering your skill set.”
“It’s right for now.” She picked up a small globe from the coffee table and wiped off the dust with her sweater sleeve. As she shook the globe, the flakes trapped inside began a frenzied dance before landing around a Christmas tree.
Judd focused on the job at hand. He checked the door alignment and pulled out his screwdriver to tighten the screws. Screws tightened, he began sanding the frame with a block at the warped area just above the lock. Satisfied, he tested the door. The door closed and opened freely, just like the internet instructional video said it would.
No more Samantha sprawled on her floor. No more hearing her come in at night. He couldn’t help a sigh of sweet regret. Judd glanced up.
Samantha’s head rested against the sofa back. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open in sleep. The antihistamine had kicked in.
Judd took a deep breath, regretting that he didn’t have the right to brush the hair away from her face.
Time to examine the computer.
It wouldn’t take any time at all.
Barely a minute.
Except it was password protected.
He pulled the thumb drive with the password reset program out of his pocket and inserted it into the USB port. Minutes later and he was in.
Samantha continued to sleep.
His fingers flew soundlessly across the keyboard as he reviewed the names of the files stored in the computer.
The Irish Pub’s inventory and menus. He opened the file and scanned the ledgers. Nothing unusual here.
Judd glanced over his shoulder. Samantha slept on.
He had to move fast. Explaining why he was inspecting her computer would not be easy. Deft fingers scrolled faster.
Something caught his eye. He backspaced.
“Top Secret?”
Who would name a file top secret? The urge to laugh out loud was barely suppressed. What was it? Secret recipes?
When he attempted to open the file, a box immediately popped up.
Enter password.
The file was locked?
McBride. Pub. Government. Desperate, he began to play a simple game of word association, rapidly typing and entering anything about Samantha that came to mind from her file: her birthdate, the names of her siblings. Redhead. Chef.
Access still denied. The box kept reappearing to mock him. Too many tries and he’d no doubt be locked out.
From the back of his mind, a cynical voice asked why a chef had a top secret, password protected file.
Judd ignored the voice and copied all the files onto his flash drive. He could argue with the voice later in the comfort of his apartment as he tried to break into the file, because he knew from experience even if he got in, decryption could take days.Rubbing his hands over his face, he stood. The next step was to investigate the rest of Samantha McBride’s apartment. But that would have to wait.
He headed for the door, skirting around a large box of Christmas decorations. Behind it, an artificial tree was in pieces on the floor. Judd crouched down and glanced at the tree box stacked next to it. ‘Life-like five-foot Scottish pine. Twelve easy pieces.’
Surely he could handle twelve easy pieces and get this tree up for Samantha. The woman was sick, and it was least he could do. Right?
The voice shot back at him. Yeah, it’s the least you can do to assuage your guilt.
4
Judd pushed the door open and stood for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the McBride’s pub.
“Hey, there, lad. You have to close the door, or the fresh air will come in.”
Judd released his hold on the door and found himself staring at a priest, a big man with a shock of red curls so bright they nearly glowed in the darkened room. Dressed in a black shirt and white clerical collar, it could only be Paddy
McBride, Samantha’s great uncle.
“You look lost? Are you lost, lad? That’s my specialty, but I’m on my lunch break now.” He pulled a silver watch on a chain from his pocket. “I’ll be with you in about thirty minutes. Sit yourself down and have something to warm you up.” He glanced at the threatening gray sky outside the pub’s bay window. “Looks like we may have a white Christmas after all.”
Judd nodded and looked around the tables of lunchtime diners. The place was full, but there was no sign of Samantha. He slid onto a bar stool just as another priest wandered over from around the corner of the horseshoe shaped bar. This padre was as wide as the other one was tall, and his head was bald except for a few tuffs of white fuzz above his ears. A firm hand was thrust in Judd’s face. “McNally, from St. Vincent’s. I’m sure you’ve heard of our basketball team.”
“Oh, go on, Mick. That bunch of hooligans? I’m sure he saw their pictures at the post office, right lad?” Paddy said as he came closer, grinning.
Judd took the hand but was unable to get a word in as the two priests exchanged friendly insults.
“Don’t listen to Paddy. He only says that because he coaches the girl’s team.” McNally looked him up and down, assessing. “You look like you’re tall. Stand up straight, son.”
Startled, Judd slid off the stool and obeyed“Aye, six foot at least. We could use a little help with the coaching staff. You ever play ball?” Father McNally asked.
“Some,” Judd admitted. He struggled to stay ahead of where the repartee that zinged past him was headed.
“Saturday. Ten sharp. And best to leave the spectacles at home. The boys can get a wee bit rambunctious.”
Judd glanced between the men, not sure if the short cleric was serious or not.The kitchen door swung open, and a harried Samantha emerged. Her eyes connected with his and her face lit up with a smile as she wiped her hands on the apron around her waist.
Judd nodded toward her and adjusted his glasses.
“Why didn’t you tell us you’re here for Samantha?” Paddy cried. “You don’t want us in the doghouse do you? That lass would cut off our tab if she had a mind to, wouldn’t she, Mick? She’s tough, just like her father. Bless his soul. Don’t want to get her stirred up.”
The Christmas Angel (The McBride Series Book 1) Page 4