by Debby Giusti
The fresh smell of the outdoors sailed into the kitchen along with her. Without thinking, he reached for her hand and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her.
Violet hesitated a moment before the stiffness he felt initially melted as she moved closer.
“You’re cold,” he whispered, inhaling the lemon scent of her shampoo.
She laughed and the vivacious sound made him giddy.
Bernice stepped into the kitchen, and Violet pulled free to hold the older woman’s purse while Clay helped her with her coat.
“You certainly look pretty,” Violet said, taking in Bernice’s wool dress and matching jacket.
“Thank you, dear. Clay said the color brings out my eyes.”
Violet threw him an approving glance and winked.
“Just so Leonard notices.”
“Someone from church?” Violet asked.
“He moved here to be close to his daughter after his wife died.” The older woman turned to Clay. “The casserole is in the oven. Salad’s in the fridge. There’s cake for dessert.”
“Have you eaten?” Violet was confused.
“I had leftovers earlier. Leonard and I are staying for the dessert after the program.” Bernice glanced at Clay’s tools on the counter. “How’s the disposal?”
“Ready to use. Just remember, no potato peels.”
“As I’ve said before, you’re an answer to my prayers.” Bernice squeezed his arm then took her purse from Violet and headed for the garage.
“That woman knows how to make a guy feel good,” Clay said once Bernice left the house. “When I fix something around my own place in Chicago, I’m the only one who notices. Work on something here and Bernice turns it into an answered prayer.”
“She’s a dear lady who loves the Lord.”
“Bernice doesn’t mince words about you, either.”
Violet raised her brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, she thinks you’re one in a million. A prize catch, I believe was the phrase she also used.”
Violet’s cheeks pinked.
“She said you deserve someone special.” Clay stared down at Violet, realizing too late he was only inches away from her. Surely she could hear the pounding of his heart.
She blinked and turned toward the oven, looking as confused with her emotions as he felt about his.
Glancing at his toolbox, Clay forced his thoughts back on track. “After we eat, I’ll install those dead bolts.”
The meal was delicious, and Clay learned a bit of Missoula’s history, including about Lewis and Clark who had come through the Missoula Valley in 1805.
After dinner, Clay left the dishes, wanting to install the dead bolts first. The stars twinkled overhead and the moon smiled down on them as they walked to Violet’s house.
Carrying his toolbox in one hand, Clay reached for hers with the other. Their fingers entwined without hesitation as if they’d been created for that very purpose.
The world seemed focused totally on them. Chicago and the Martino Mafia family were half a continent away. Tonight Clay wasn’t a cop. He was a guy falling in love with a beautiful woman.
Clay could see himself in this neighborhood, helping Bernice with her repairs and spending lots of time with Violet. Missoula was a nice town, a place to settle down and live the good life.
Violet handed him the key to her house. He unlocked the front door and she followed him into the dimly lit living room, where both of them shrugged off their coats.
“I’ll make coffee,” Violet said, heading for the kitchen.
Flipping on another light, he turned and slipped back into cop mode. “Violet?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling with happiness. Laughter escaped her lips, the buoyant sound in stark contrast to the cold chill that had slid over his portion of the room.
He pointed to the other side of the living room. Drawers had been pulled from her desk. Papers lay scattered over the floor. A lamp had overturned, and books from a shelf had been tossed into a pile on a nearby area rug. Her phone sat on the otherwise bare desktop.
Confusion swept across her face as Clay stated the obvious. “This time it’s definitely the mob.”
TEN
Violet’s stomach roiled and she felt lightheaded. “Clay—”
He reached out and steadied her, wrapping her in his arms.
Her sternum felt like a brick weight, collapsing her lungs.
“Easy, honey,” he soothed, rubbing his hands over her back.
She gasped for air as hot tears stung her eyes. Clay had been right all along. The mob had been after her. Why had she been so foolish not to admit it to herself?
Because of what had happened with Aunt Lettie, of course. But she couldn’t explain that to Clay.
Gathering strength, she pulled from his embrace. She needed to inventory her things and determine what had been taken.
Glancing at the empty desktop and at the clutter on the floor, realization hit. “My laptop’s gone.”
“Don’t touch anything,” Clay warned. “Stay here while I check the house.”
He moved from room to room as she tried to comprehend what had happened. Had the intruder been after her computer when he’d broken in Monday night? And what about her files at work? Had someone accessed them or had she accidentally deleted them herself?
All this time, Violet hadn’t wanted to admit Clay was right. She had placed herself in danger.
“The rest of the house looks okay. He must have found what he was looking for,” Clay said, returning to the living room. “Who has a key?”
Violet tried to think. “Jimmy did when I first moved back to Missoula.”
“Jimmy?” Clay raised his brow.
“He helped me paint the place while I stayed at Bernice’s. Sometimes he’d get here earlier than I could, so I gave him a key. He gave it back before I moved in.”
“Easy enough to make a copy.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist, willing herself to be strong. “Jimmy wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re too trusting, Violet. Jimmy’s interested in everything about you. Have you noticed anything out of place or missing before this?”
“No, of course not.”
Clay was right. Jimmy wanted their relationship to develop into something longterm, but he’d never over-stepped the bounds of propriety and he’d never verbalized his feelings.
“We need to report the break-in to the police.” Clay pulled out his cell. “While they’re on the way, check your valuables and ensure nothing else has been taken.”
Her missing files once again came to mind.
Clay narrowed his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” She explained about the files on her work computer.
“Why didn’t you mention it?”
She looked into his eyes, feeling she had betrayed him with her earlier reticence. Her mistrust of law enforcement continued to get in the way. “I…I—”
He sighed. “It’s okay, Violet. I know you’re still not sure you can trust me.”
Tears stung her eyes. He was right, just as he’d been about the danger.
“Was everything deleted on your computer at work?”
At least he hadn’t lingered on the trust issue.
“Only the documents concerning the Chicago Mafia. Luckily, I backed up the information on to my flash drive.”
“Which is where?”
She hesitated.
He held up his hands. “Don’t tell me. I’ll call the police from the kitchen and give you privacy to ensure it’s still safe.”
“No, Clay, it’s okay.” She dug in her purse and was relieved to find the tiny flash drive where she’d placed it earlier.
He made the call, explained what had happened and requested Officer O’Reilly be notified.
“O’Reilly’s off duty tonight, but a patrol car’s in the area,” Clay said, closing his phone. “An officer will be here soon.”
Viol
et moved through her house, checking the few valuables she had. Nothing in the bedroom appeared to have been touched. A tiny cross necklace that had belonged to Aunt Lettie remained in the velvet-lined box on her dresser.
She returned to the living room just as Clay opened the front door. He motioned the officer inside and quickly explained about everything that had happened, including the missing laptop and the problem with her files at work.
Tall, with short blond hair and blue eyes, the officer seemed both efficient and sympathetic.
“So, you’re the guy who helped us bring in Jamie Favor?” The cop was impressed.
Clay nodded. “O’Reilly said he divulged the name of a drug dealer in the neighborhood.”
“We pulled him in last night. Hopefully, things will quiet down around here now.”
The officer turned to Violet. “What’s on your laptop, ma’am? Bank records? Online financial accounts?”
She shook her head. “I do all my financial transactions in person at the bank.”
“Are you working on any stories someone may not want written?”
She looked at Clay before she answered. “I’m currently doing a story on the need for increased police officers in the city.” She didn’t mention the missing information on the Mafia.
The cop nodded his approval. “Thanks for being on our side. We’ve got enough folks who don’t appreciate what we do.”
Violet felt a stab of conscience. The officer seemed like a decent man. Stu had probably been right to reject the first story she’d submitted about the local P.D. Her prejudice against the chief of police due to what had happened back home in Granite Pass had more than colored her reporting. She had made a mistake and let her personal feelings sway the story. Something any good reporter shouldn’t have allowed to happen.
“No sign of forced entry,” the officer said after he checked the house. “Someone must have made a copy of your key. I’ll talk to the locksmiths in the area and your neighbors to see if they noticed anything. Have your locks changed in the morning.”
“I plan to do that,” Violet said.
“Does anyone have a spare key?” the officer asked.
The same question Clay had posed. Cops must think alike. She didn’t want Jimmy involved. Besides, she’d given him the key almost a year ago. Why would he choose to enter her house now?
Quinn’s warning played through her mind. Jimmy had access to her computer at work. Would he sabotage her Mafia story in order to help his own career?
“What about someone at work?” Clay prompted as if reading her thoughts.
“No one has a key,” she said with conviction.
Clay’s face was hard to read. She prided herself in being a good judge of character. Jimmy had been a friend for years. Nothing had changed.
Except Clay had entered the picture.
The officer did a thorough search of the exterior of the house, looking for any sign of entry. He fingerprinted the doors, as well as the areas that had been disturbed inside.
“We’ll increase patrols in the area,” the officer said once he had finished. “I’ll let O’Reilly know, and contact you if we uncover any leads.”
When the officer left, Clay reached for his tool kit. “After I install the dead bolts, you’re coming back with me to Bernice’s house.”
Violet packed a small overnight bag as Clay worked. Where had she gone wrong? Had Gwyn’s boyfriend discovered she’d been passing information? Or had Violet’s search for information about the two murdered green-eyed women been her own undoing?
What about Clay? His actions had adversely affected a sting the police had planned in Chicago.
A slipup on his part. But what if he had purposefully tried to thwart the operation? Could he be something other than a good man focused on justice and the rule of law?
Christ preached forgiveness, although it was a message Violet sometimes struggled to embrace. The board of inquiry was looking into Clay’s actions. Their ruling would decide his future and reveal the truth. Until then, she’d have to rely on her inner compass, and right now it was saying Clay was an honest man.
Hopefully, her compass was true and not wrapping her in a false sense of security.
Clay installed the dead bolts without problem. They were top-of-the-line and would provide additional protection for Violet.
She turned worried eyes toward him as they left her house and locked the doors behind them. If she had refused to spend the night at Bernice’s house, Clay would have camped out on Violet’s front porch. Despite the cold, he had to keep her safe. Right now, he enjoyed the warmth of her hand and the way her fingers wrapped through his. A nice fit.
“It’s going to be okay, Violet,” he encouraged, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “If the perpetrator left prints, the cops will take him down.”
She flashed him a tenuous smile. “Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.’”
“I’d never say that.” He dropped her hand and moved his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. Her perfume teased his nostrils. He tilted his head toward hers. At that moment, the night didn’t seem so cold.
He was almost disappointed when they arrived at Bernice’s home. Violet stepped out of his embrace so he could unlock the door.
“I still have some work to do on the story that’s due tomorrow.” She stepped into the home. “Would you mind if I use your laptop?”
“Why don’t you make a pot of coffee while I get my computer booted up and online?”
Clay placed his laptop on the dining table so Violet could work. Even if the Mafia had the information on her laptop, she was still in grave danger.
Someone had gotten into her home unnoticed twice. The next time might be to do something far worse, and that’s what worried Clay. He couldn’t let her out of his sight, yet as determined as Violet was to make her own path through life, keeping the headstrong reporter safe might be a hard task to accomplish.
The smell of fresh-perked coffee filled the air as Violet inserted her flash drive into Clay’s laptop. With a few taps on the keyboard, her e-mail provider popped on to the screen. She entered her password and found a new message in her mailbox.
Clicking on the subject line, an e-mail from Gwyn appeared on the screen.
Did you locate Jen Davis?
Violet wrote a hasty reply, explaining what she and Clay had found in Billings.
The U.S. Marshals are looking for Jen. They’ll keep her safe. They can help you, too, if you’re willing to accept their protection.
Gwyn’s reply came quickly.
I’ll call you soon.
Violet closed her e-mail as Clay came into the dining area, carrying two mugs of coffee. He pulled out a chair and sat next to her while she told him about the message she’d just received.
“Did you mention Micah’s offer?”
Violet placed her cell on the table. “She said she’d call me.” Before Violet had finished her coffee, her cell rang. Relief swept over her when she heard Gwyn’s voice.
“Tell me what you found out?” the woman asked.
“I talked to a U.S. Marshal today,” Violet said. “He’ll be able to get you into Witness Protection and set you up in another city.”
“What about Ruby Maxwell and Carlie Donald? No one kept them safe.”
“Do you know if they contacted someone from their past? That could have led the mob to their doors.”
“My boyfriend never mentioned how the mob found them. They probably didn’t realize their lives were in danger.”
How many other women in Witness Protection were in danger, as well?
“You’ll have to cut all ties, Gwyn. You won’t be able to talk to family or friends you knew in Chicago.”
“I’m all alone, Violet. That won’t be a problem.”
“If you’re willing to provide evidence against the mob, the Marshals will get you to safety.”
Violet thought once again of Jen Davis and the strange man who had appeared wherever they went
in Billings, as well as the vehicle that had almost crashed into Clay’s car. Hopefully, the Marshals would find Jen before the mob did.
Violet looked at Clay. His eyes were filled with concern. “Tell me where you’re staying, Gwyn. I’ve got a friend who’s a cop. We’ll come and get you.” She reached out her hand and squeezed Clay’s. “He’ll keep you safe.”
“I’m still worried someone’s following me. Once I feel secure enough, I’ll contact you so we can meet.”
A sense of foreboding settled over Violet when she disconnected and glanced once again at Clay. Despite the way she felt about law enforcement, she had to trust Clay. Violet had promised never to reveal her informant’s name, but Gwyn needed protection. Clay would notify the Marshals, who could take her to a safe house.
Clay had protected Violet. He would get Gwyn the protection she needed, as well.
“It’s time I give you all the information about my informant. Her name’s Gwyn Duncan.” Violet opened her cell phone. “I took this picture of her at the coffee shop.”
Clay glanced at the photo then dug in his pocket for his own cell and pulled up almost the identical picture that he had taken of Gwyn.
“Why didn’t you show Micah the photo this morning?” she asked.
Clay’s gaze warmed her. “I knew you’d provide everything once you could trust me.”
Violet’s lips trembled and tears stung her eyes. Why had she doubted Clay?
He pulled her into his arms, and she felt the strength of his embrace.
She’d asked God to help her protect women caught in the grip of organized crime. He had sent her Clay.
Jen Davis, Gwyn Duncan, Olivia Jensen and Eloise Hill were being hunted by the Chicago mob. Eloise’s daughter, Kristin, might also be in danger.
Dear God, keep them safe.
Violet snuggled closer.
Keep Clay safe, as well.
ELEVEN
Once Violet refocused her attention on the story she needed to write, Clay stepped into the kitchen and called Jackson, filling him in on the information about Gwyn.