“You think this is a scene?”
She looked around the walls, as if hoping to see some opening, a window she could fly out of. The oppressive adobe walls of this fortress, a former storage yard during the Mission period of California, pressed against her and made it difficult to breathe. As much as she wanted to keep the peace, Randy would be in charge of the conversation, and whether or not it escalated. She could only hope he’d decide to be reasonable.
She allowed him to walk close enough that she could smell his wine breath. She’d remembered at one time thinking it smelled pleasant and didn’t mind the way his speech slurred when he talked to her in a low rumble. But today, his behavior triggered warning bells. She didn’t like that he might be slightly drunk and therefore out of control.
“I gave you everything, Kate. My heart. My family’s support.” She saw him searching her face, felt him twirling her hair between his two fingers. “They accepted you as one of their own. I wanted to build my dynasty with you. My kingdom. You were going to be my queen.”
Hair at the back of her neck bristled. Their lips were close to touching, and she looked him honestly in the eyes, unafraid. Before she stepped back, she said, “Wrong girl.”
She wouldn’t have said it if he hadn’t been so creepy with the pseudo-affectionate messing with her hair, the lack of respect for her space, like he owned her. She wanted to make sure, in front of a witness, the message was delivered: I’m done.
He did have a deer-in-the-headlights look to him when she distanced herself safely. His eyes blinked. From her peripheral vision she saw his left fist tighten at his side and then release. He’d inhaled, filling his lungs with what he wanted her to think was courage. The transparent act did little to cover up the anger she saw lurking there as his breath hitched slightly.
Kate’s heart was pumping wildly. The standoff felt dangerous, a quiet before the storm sort of thing. Then she remembered her key.
“I need my key back, Randy. I don’t want you to go over to my place without me there to let you in. Understood?”
He squinted for a second before answering. “I’ve not been inside your place since before you left for Portland. I don’t do snooping, Kate. Up until recently, I had no reason not to trust you. Nothing I needed to check up.”
Kate knew it was a lie, but let it slide.
“All the same, I want it back. Please.”
Randy rocked back on his heels and produced a cluster of keys from his front pocket. Removing his leather glove, he detached her red key from the rest of them and handed it to her.
“Before you ask me, this is the only copy I have, Kate.”
She felt a little sheepish she’d planned to do exactly that. But she had. She still was convinced he had entered her place while she was gone, since Randy was the only one who had a key other than her landlords.
“Thank you,” she said softly. And then she remembered her paycheck. “Sheila doesn’t seem to have my check. Is there something I’ve not been told?”
Randy returned a sly smile. He was feigning compliance, agreement. “Unless Dad and Mom made a decision without consulting me, you’re still employed here,” he said. He leaned over to Sheila, and in his most seductive voice said, “Sheila, darling, would you mind giving Kate her check, honey?”
Sheila blushed. Kate felt sick to her stomach. She knew Randy had delivered it in an attempt to make her jealous. The opposite happened.
“Sorry, Kate. When I spoke to you earlier, I didn’t realize you were coming in today. I was working on quarterlies and figured I’d book the salary in next month’s figures, but no worries.”
“But I’m always paid on the fifteenth. This is the fifteenth,” Kate replied.
“Like I said, I’m sorry!” Sheila’s eyes got wide. “It will only take me a couple of minutes, if you both will leave my office and give me some peace and quiet.”
“See there, Kate? No conspiracy. Just a misunderstanding. All a misunderstanding.” Randy had recovered some of his composure and was syrupy sweet again. She darted a look at Sheila and saw her tiny shrug. Was there an ounce of disappointment there? Kate wasn’t getting anything from her, which was surprising.
“I’ll be right outside in the tasting room. Just holler when you’re done,” Kate had started walking to the bar, Randy following behind her.
“I’ll need the check signed—” Sheila shouted to Randy’s back. Randy reversed course and quickly returned to stand behind Sheila, placing a palm on her shoulder and leaning forward.
“Sure, and then she’ll be on her way,” he whispered.
“Thank you, Mr. Heller,” Sheila said with a tease, and another unmistakable blush.
Sheila did as she was told, producing the checkbook register. Randy’s scribble took up several square inches.
“How about one for me?” Kate heard Sheila ask.
“Oh, fine,” Randy said with a flourish and signed a second check. He threw the pen down and left the office, walking toward Kate and then turning to go another direction without looking back at her.
Sheila presented the check to Kate. “Sorry about all this. He’ll calm down. We’re all having to put up with him a bit.”
“Self-absorbed jerk,” Kate said.
Sheila sighed and looked off in the direction Randy had disappeared. “But he’s our jerk. Something still loveable about him, don’t you think?”
Kate had never thought Sheila was interested in her fiancé, but today it was as obvious as a billboard.
“Sheila. You have something to tell me?”
“You mean, have I been fucking your fiancé?”
“Sheila!” Kate blushed.
“No worries, Kate. I have my eyes on much bigger fish.”
Kate walked toward the exit. “Thanks,” she said as she held up her check.
“Don’t mention it. Call me, okay? I want every detail of your new beau.”
Kate agreed, but walked out of the tasting room sure Sheila wasn’t the friend she’d believed she was. It would be a cold day in hell before she’d bare her soul to that woman ever again. Her friend had jumped ship, and Kate hadn’t made up her mind which team Sheila was playing for now.
Something told her she would need her allies close and tight. And she better be sure who they were. It would be better to not have any than to have a couple you trusted when you really shouldn’t.
C
hapter 23
Tyler and the three new men helped Timmons with the last of his boxes and cleanup, as had been requested by their LPO, Kyle Lansdowne. He’d reported his concerns to Kyle regarding Timmons’s state of mind. “We got a problem, sir.”
“Not the first time someone has retired, only to find out their whole world got downsized by the wife,” Kyle told him.
“Just hard to watch.” He began to tell Kyle about their encounter with Timmons’s wife, Dottie.
They’d brought the last of the boxes over to Timmons’s house while Ollie stayed behind to sweep out the office and do some much-needed cleaning, even though the Navy would bring in their own cleaning and paint crew soon.
A single bay door to a three-car garage was open. Timmons was seated on a pile of boxes, bent over another set of boxes, three deep and running the entire long side of the bay. Timmons’s pickup had been evicted from its place and was parked on the street.
Carrying a double stack of boxes, Tyler almost set it on the wrapped statue of the frog surfer, which irritated him. This marked the second time in as many days he’d almost destroyed the statue, and though it was replaceable, doing so had cost the team so much, Kyle had indicated perhaps they should have the next one bronzed, thereby extending its useful life. The expense for that, unfortunately, was prohibitive. Tyler set the boxes to the side first and then handed the wrapped statue to Timmons.
“Sir, I’ve almost destroyed this thing twice now. You should take it inside, where it will be safer.”
Timmons clutched the bubble-wrapped object like it was a favorite toy
for a boy of ten. “Thank you, son. I appreciate that.” He looked around for a place to put the surfer frog, and then paused and said, “I’ll be right back.” Tyler watched the gentle giant approach the back door of the house, leading to the inner sanctum of Timmons’s wife, whom Timmons had told them was having a bad day. When his Chief struggled to open the door, Tyler was there in an instant to help. He saw too late the oily footprints left on the laundry room vinyl. Timmons had easily opened the lightweight door to his living room and was two steps inside on a light grey carpet.
As soon as the handle clicked shut at Timmons’s back, he heard the shriek he knew was coming. For a second, he thought Dottie had thrown a dish at Timmons, but then realized she’d probably pushed him back into the doorway, sending the bubble-wrapped frog sculpture flying. It was apparent it did not fall on carpet. The distinctive sounds of glass shattering were painful to hear. T.J. and Frank immediately stood to attention as if they’d heard an explosion.
And it turned out it was an explosion of epic proportions.
Tyler was careful to tiptoe around Timmons’s marks on the flooring, and leaned inside the doorway. Timmons was on the floor next to the door, looking dazed. Dottie had thrown a pot—and from the size of the welt on Timmons’s forehead, it was a heavy pot—at the man. To his right, Dottie was sorting through the shattered remnants of a glass curio cabinet filled to capacity with dolls. But the bubble-wrapped frog statue appeared unhurt, lying amongst the wreckage intact.
He knelt to look after his Chief’s forehead, where a large purple goose egg had formed quickly and begun to bleed at one corner. Dottie’s level of violence towards her husband surprised Tyler so much he kept a wary eye on her while he attended to Timmons, making sure she didn’t pick up another weapon.
“Geez, sir. She really got you,” he whispered to the Chief.
“Oh that,” Timmons slurred. “Just a scratch.”
Tyler asked him questions about what day it was, if his back hurt, things like that in soft, gentle, and what he hoped were soothing tones. Timmons was still shaken, but coherent.
T.J. was a fuming torrent of speed as he crossed the room, not giving a rat’s ass about re-spreading the Chief’s footprints across the light carpet. He pulled the package from the mortuary of broken dolls and mirrored shelving and got in Dottie’s face after he’d secured it.
“You fuckin’ bitch. You don’t have the right to lay a hand on that man,” he growled.
Tyler jumped up and had to restrain him, although he was fairly sure the SEAL wouldn’t make good on his physical threat. “Not helpful, T.J.” He pulled the big SEAL back by the arms. T.J. swung his powerful shoulders and extricated himself from Tyler’s grip, swearing under his breath, but not advancing further on Dottie.
Dottie peered back at T.J. with some alarm, but there was no mistaking the hatred she felt for her husband. Timmons sat there motionless, tears streaming down his face.
Kyle was obviously moved by the story. “Holy hell, Tyler. We can’t let him stay there with her. She’ll kill him.”
“It looked that way to T.J., too. I’m not sure I’d go that far, Kyle. T.J. has stayed behind to keep checking him out until we heard from you.”
“He should get to a hospital, Tyler.”
“Refused. Already asked. Dottie left in a huff. Timmons is safe for now, but we gotta do something.”
“I’m going to send Coop over there to check him out. I think he needs a hospital. He could have a concussion he might not wake up from, Tyler.”
“Yessir.”
“You’re still there, I take it?”
“Yessir.”
“T.J. or Frankie have their kits on them?”
“I think T.J. does. He never goes anywhere without it.”
“Okay, then. You guys restrain him if you have to, give him something if you have to…but be careful. And get him over to Emergency like yesterday, hear?”
“Yessir.”
“And Tyler, you keep the statue for now. No sense complicating things and it might feel the brunt of her anger when she comes home and finds she can’t pound on her man.”
“Roger that.”
They’d gotten Timmons admitted, convincing him by showing him the size of the welt on his forehead. The cut did appear to need a couple of stitches, too. And because blood had been shed, a report had to be made to base security, who advised them not to call the local police, who would normally have jurisdiction.
But at the Emergency Room, the friendly doctor who treated him called the police himself, and Tyler knew charges would be brought against Dottie, whether Timmons wanted it or not. No question about it. She’d assaulted her husband with deadly force.
So much for retirement. What a fuckin’ first day of freedom. Now he fully understood why Timmons had been so apprehensive about the big day. It also made sense he’d been trying to do it slowly, take as much time as he could, to lessen the impact on Dottie’s household. Tyler was only glad he and his buds had been there for him. The man had been solid toward the whole team for the ten years he was their liaison.
After Timmons was admitted and settled in his room, Tyler let Timmons use his cell phone to call his daughter Cassie. He knew Cassie was a strong young lady now, and a good judge of character, having hung around the SEALs throughout her growing-up years. Cassie would get it. Tyler was glad Timmons would have an ally.
He and T.J. drove to a local Starbuck’s, picked up something to eat and some strong coffee. He placed a quick call to Kate, who picked up on the first ring.
“Hi, baby. Good to hear your voice,” he whispered. He could feel the tension of the last couple of hours falling away just at the sound of her breathing. Just being on the call with her was a safe island to him.
“Oh, God, Tyler, this has been a horrible day.”
“Me too, sweetheart. So, you go first.”
He felt some of his tension rise again at the description of her former fiancé and his demeanor.
“Stay away from that guy, Kate. I’m smelling something really bad there.”
“Oh, he’s wounded, and—”
“You know wounded bears are the worst. Don’t mess with him. Just stay away.”
“Oh, I intend to. I do go to work tomorrow. Don’t think he’ll be there because he’s working the cellar tonight with Sheila.”
“All the same, if he comes to your house, you call the cops. Promise me you’ll take precautions.”
“Of course I will, silly. I just overreacted. Probably made this bigger than it needed to be.”
“No. You didn’t. You be careful. Promise me. You gotta promise.”
“I will, Tyler. Now what is your news?”
Tyler didn’t want to tell her about the altercation, abiding by the age-old tradition of keeping family business within the family. Though there might be something in the newspaper about it, he doubted Kate would ever know, and decided it was more than she should have to handle.
“My stuff looks pretty stupid. Like a paper cut, in comparison.”
Her laugh was like fresh water washing over him. Such a delicious experience, to be bathed in the beauty of her voice.
C
hapter 24
Kate called her mother and agreed to stop by for that talk Kate was dreading.
Louise Morgan had dark bags under her eyes and Kate could tell she’d been crying recently. She gave her mother a powerful hug, squeezing the woman who had always been her kind confidant, and noticing she had lost weight, and was a little stiff.
“You’re losing too much weight, Mom.”
“I’m fine. All this wedding stuff is…” she walked to the kitchen to pour two glasses of ice water, which was their custom. “I don’t do well with all this planning, and now the un-planning.” Her sad eyes looked up at Kate as she handed her the frosty glass.
Kate found her eyes welling with tears she couldn’t help but let fall. “I’m so sorry, Mom.” Now she was in her mom’s company, she finally realized the intensi
ty of her feelings about the mess Kate had created. Kate chastised herself for not realizing it sooner.
But the dull ache in her belly, that warm glow of a new love, a new relationship, wouldn’t be trampled, even with the obvious evidence of her mother’s pain.
They both drank in silence, standing in the kitchen as they often did.
Mrs. Morgan took Kate’s hand and led her to the living room, where they sat in overstuffed chairs at forty-five degree angles.
“So, tell me about him,” her mother said.
“I met him on the plane. It was like we instantly knew we were right for each other.”
Kate’s mom leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. She slowly lowered her gaze to look out the picture windows to a garden full of flowers beyond. Her expression was vacant, as if she was caught in a daydream.
“Mom?”
Mrs. Morgan shook her head slightly. “A chance meeting on a plane. What are the odds?” She smiled and pulled at a tiny piece of thread from the denim of her jeans at her thigh.
“Yes. That’s exactly it.”
“And he feels the same way?”
“Yes. I’ve invited him to come up this weekend. He deploys on Monday.”
“Deploy? He’s in the military?”
“He’s a SEAL, mom. A specially trained—”
“I know what a SEAL is. I haven’t been living in a cave here.”
Her mother’s sharp tongue surprised her. She decided to go slow. “He leaves for about six months, not the two years most others do. He was flying home to say goodbye to his mother and father, who live in Portland.”
Mrs. Morgan sipped her water, finishing it. “What does Gretchen think of him?”
“I thought you’d tell me yourself. I’m sure you two have talked.”
“She’s tight-lipped on this one, Kate. I couldn’t get diddly out of her, which is why I’m guessing this is serious.”
“It is.”
“Gretchen always has plenty of opinions about men. I knew when I couldn’t wrestle a single tidbit out of her she was worried she’d have to eat her words. So tell me about him. You haven’t told me anything yet.”
SEAL of My Heart Page 13