Harlequin Intrigue May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  “Thanks for coming,” Ric said. “Man, I’m glad I remembered about these before you left town. Just the idea of going through her clothes—” He didn’t finish. Didn’t have to.

  Gabby felt a little bit the same, but also...excited. She’d been so young when Mom died, her memories became more insubstantial all the time. If somebody asked what her mother had been like, she couldn’t have said. Maybe looking through and handling her possessions would answer some of her questions.

  Following Ric inside, she saw that he’d brought the boxes into the living room, probably so that she wouldn’t have to look at the kitchen. She was somewhat reassured to realize that the idea didn’t horrify her the way it had. Maybe because she’d already done that, maybe because she’d brought into focus memories that had lurked in frightened corners of her mind.

  Hiding hadn’t helped. Facing her fears headlong had.

  She plopped down. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Why don’t you open the boxes, take things out, and once we make a decision, I’ll put them in a pile depending on what it is?”

  “Why do I get to be the leader?”

  He grinned at her. “Because you’re a girl? Mom was a girl?” He pushed a cardboard box closer to her.

  “Oh, fine.”

  She unfolded the flaps and found herself looking at a jumble of items. Mostly shoes. A shoebox in pristine shape. Empty hangers, a sweater that had just been shoved in with everything else—

  Gabby reached for the sweater, red, saggy and pilling. Ric’s expression told her he remembered it as vividly as she did. It had been Mom’s favorite to wear around the house. It really was ratty. No thrift store shopper would want it, but...

  “Oh, Mom,” she whispered, and hugged it to herself. Tears burned in her eyes from the powerful rush of familiarity. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “We’ll keep it.” Ric’s voice rasped. “Our kids can wonder why we’d keep something like this, and throw it away for us.”

  Gabby nodded. He took it from her and carefully folded the sweater. She thought he held it close to his face for a moment and inhaled, as if searching for a lingering perfume of their mother.

  The shoes were easy, mostly too worn to interest anyone. The shoebox held a pair of black heeled sandals that didn’t look as if they’d ever been worn. They were several sizes bigger than Gabby wore, so she said, “Thrift store.”

  Cars passed occasionally on the street in front, but not many. A lot of neighbors were probably away for the long weekend visiting family. Gabby couldn’t help thinking of Mrs. Soriano and Mr. Monroe, both of whom, in different ways, had saved her life. According to Ric, both had passed away years ago. She wished she could have seen them again, thanked them.

  My fault for not coming home sooner.

  They went through two boxes of Mom’s clothing. Their father hadn’t packed it carefully. It was as if, unable to bear looking too closely at anything, he’d grabbed everything out of the drawers and shoved it into boxes. Gabby could imagine how he’d felt. It must have been inexpressibly painful.

  No garment besides the sweater rang any bells for her. She set aside a jewelry box. There was unlikely to be anything but costume jewelry in there, but she’d go through it carefully once they were otherwise done. She’d love to have a piece of jewelry to wear that reminded her of her mother.

  “Did Dad bury Mom wearing her wedding and engagement rings?” she asked.

  Ric moaned. “I have no idea.”

  The next box held books and a pair of handsome wrought iron fleur-de-lis bookends. Dad had never been much of a reader, but Gabby vaguely recalled her mother was. Mom was mostly the one to read to her kids, too.

  Picking up the book on the top, Gabby said, “Poetry. I had no idea—”

  She turned her head sharply and listened. She didn’t hear anything, but...a shadow had passed in front of the window.

  Ric was staring in the same direction. “Gabby,” he said quietly, “I think there’s someone on the porch. Grab your phone and run for the back of the house. Now.”

  She responded to the intensity in that last word and reached down for her phone poking out of the front pocket of her handbag. Then she jumped onto the sofa to bypass the boxes and tore for the kitchen.

  Behind her, glass shattered and she heard a muffled pop, pop, pop, followed by a thud.

  From the refuge of the kitchen, she screamed, “Ric!”

  No answer.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Normally, Jack would have had Thanksgiving with his father. He really hadn’t been in the mood, though, either for the drive or for celebrating anything. Part of that was his pain at losing any chance with Gabby, but more important was a raging frustration that she was on her own with a killer hunting her.

  He kept reasoning with himself. The near hit-and-run really might have been a close call because of a distracted driver. Any cop knew how often that kind of carelessness resulted in tragedy. The man who’d tried to persuade her to let him into her hotel room was another story, though.

  Yesterday, he’d known she was spending part of the day with Ric. That wasn’t perfect; Ric didn’t carry a gun and had no bodyguard or combat training. Still. Gabby should be safe in her hotel room, if she just stayed put.

  Yeah, but she had to eat.

  Thanksgiving had sucked, as far as he was concerned. If he hadn’t gone about this all wrong, he could have invited Ric and Gabby to his place for their Thanksgiving meal. Never having cooked a turkey before, he might have had to take a speed lesson, or begged her or Ric for help, but they’d have had fun.

  Instead, he’d microwaved a couple of burritos.

  Today, his skin crawled with anxiety. Surely she was being careful—but what was she doing? If only the psychologist had been able to see Gabby today, but no, she and her husband had flown to Phoenix to celebrate with his parents. Monday morning was the soonest she could get Gabby in, and she was shuffling appointments to manage that.

  By now, Jack couldn’t settle down to anything. He should have gone into the station. He did finally receive a call letting him know that the security officer who’d been arrested but not charged with rape had lived in the Houston area for the last fifteen years, and was wheelchair bound after a stroke he’d had the previous year.

  One more name Jack could cross off his list.

  He started for the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee, but found himself pacing instead.

  Would Gabby answer if he called? What about Ric?

  He reached the front door and turned back just as his phone, left on the kitchen table, rang. It could be anyone, but—He moved fast, pouncing on it when he saw Gabby’s name. What did a call from her mean?

  “Gabby?”

  “Ric’s been shot.” Her breath hitched with what he guessed was a sob. “I’m at his house. We were going through some more of Mom’s things, and—Can you come?”

  “You called 9-1-1?”

  “Yes. I was lucky because a patrol officer was really close, but the ambulance isn’t here yet, and I’m scared. I...don’t know how badly Ric is injured.”

  “I’m on my way.” Jack snatched up his wallet and keys and went out the door. “Stay on the line with me if you don’t need to make any other calls. I should be there in ten to fifteen minutes.” Or less, if he stepped on it.

  “I’ll be a distraction.” Already she’d collected herself, or else he was hearing a chill in her voice. “I’m okay. Drive safe.” Call ended.

  He swore pungently as he leaped into his SUV and backed out of the garage.

  * * *

  GABBY DROPPED THE phone on the coffee table and went back to Ric’s side. He was breathing. Thank God he was alive, but the police officer was applying pressure to a bloody mess on his shoulder and chest. It looked as if he’d hit his head on a corner of the hearth as he we
nt down. She could see a smear of blood on the brick.

  Realizing she was rocking, she made herself stop. “What’s taking so long?”

  The extremely young officer’s expression betrayed more stress than he’d like to know. “I think I hear a siren.”

  “I do, too.” She squeezed Ric’s slack hand. “Hold on, Ric. I’m here.”

  Through the broken front window, she saw an ambulance rocket to a stop, then back into the driveway beside her rental. Thank God she’d left room. Barely a minute later, a man and woman appeared on the porch.

  Their dark blue uniforms disturbed her on a fundamental level, just as the young officer’s had. She had to shake off her reaction. Seconds later, she scooted away on her butt to give them room to evaluate Ric. They asked a couple of quick questions, applied fresh dressings, and with barely disguised urgency prepared him for transport.

  Her gaze glued to her wounded brother, Gabby heard a squeal of brakes but didn’t look up until Jack appeared in the open doorway. He looked straight at her, but spoke briefly with the EMTs before stepping aside so they could wheel Ric out.

  Then Jack came to her, crouching so that he didn’t tower over her. “I think he’ll be fine.”

  “I have to go to the hospital!” she said frantically, jumping to her feet.

  Jack gripped her arms. “Nobody there will be able to talk to you for a little while. Ric will be rushed into surgery. You won’t do him any good sitting in a waiting room. Take a minute, calm down and tell me what happened.”

  Her first impulse was to fight off his hands, but she closed her eyes, focused on the strength in those hands, the steadiness in his voice, and nodded. When he nudged her to sit at the opposite end of the sofa from where she’d been before, she plopped down, watching him take a seat on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Won’t there be crime scene investigators?” she asked. “Should we be here?”

  “This is my scene, and this should be fine for a few minutes. I’m not about to drag you into the kitchen.”

  She bobbed her head, held on tightly to her phone and waited.

  It didn’t take long to answer his questions. He could see the pile of boxes, opened and unopened. The glistening blood pooled where Ric had sprawled on the oak floor.

  At least it would wipe up easily, she thought, in that annoying way the mind worked at times like this. If Ric didn’t survive, cleaning up the mess would become meaningless.

  Jack’s question reined in her thoughts. “Are these boxes from the storage unit?”

  She shook her head and told him about Ric remembering that some boxes had been stowed up in the attic space. “Once he realized they all held Mom’s possessions, he asked if I’d help go through them.”

  Jack shifted gears. “When he told you to run, did Ric intend to follow you?”

  “I assumed so,” she said uncertainly.

  “That’s likely, but you had quite a head start.”

  She told him how she’d used the sofa to leap over the top of the boxes. Sitting there, she saw that one box had been knocked askew. “He must have stumbled over it.”

  Jack wanted her to show him how far she’d gotten. When she led him toward the hall, where the staircase rose and doorways opened to the kitchen and the utility room as well as the back door, he stopped and swore.

  “That one must have barely missed you.”

  “What?” Her gaze followed his to the bullet hole in the wallboard. Her eyes were level with it. Feeling sick, she said, “I didn’t know.”

  “Okay, sweetheart, that’s it. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  “I can drive.”

  He studied her, those blue eyes penetrating. “Do you feel steady enough?”

  She took a deep breath, analyzed how she felt and nodded. “The angrier I get, the better I feel.”

  His smile was both gentle and approving. It might have made her knees a little wobbly, if they hadn’t already been. She stiffened them and followed him out the front door.

  She started to go back for her handbag, but Jack did it for her. He stopped to talk for a few minutes to the responding officer, who nodded several times.

  Then she started her car, backed out into the street and fell in behind his Tahoe as he led the way to the hospital. She’d noticed signs pointing to it, but hadn’t been sure where it was.

  Once there, it turned out he’d been right that Ric had been whisked immediately into surgery. Jack requested, and got, a private waiting room for her that was behind the swinging doors into the surgery unit.

  He nodded his thanks to the nurse who’d brought them there. “This should be safe.”

  Sitting on one of four upholstered chairs surrounding a table, she said, “Safe?”

  He took the chair right next to hers. “I don’t want you sitting out there in plain sight.”

  “Oh.” She pictured herself as a bottle set up on a fence rail for target practice. They could have been followed, or the killer might have logically assumed this was where she’d be. He must have seen Ric go down. “Hadn’t you better go back?”

  As Jack regarded her, Gabby noticed for the first time how strained he looked. He might have aged a decade, furrows appearing.

  “Yeah. I do have to. Gabby...don’t go anywhere, with anyone.”

  “I’m not that dumb.”

  “I know you aren’t.” He ran a hand over his face, but didn’t look any better when he was done. “You scared the shit out of me. Again.”

  Old anger bubbled up. “Afraid you’d lose your witness?”

  “You know better than that. I meant every word I said to you. Think about that.” Shaking his head, he rose to his feet. “I’ll be back later. Wait here for me.”

  The door opened, closed and he was gone.

  Leaving her filled with dread, her thoughts spiraling between the brother with whom she’d just reconnected and Jack. A man whose devastation she couldn’t deny.

  * * *

  LOADING THE BOXES into his SUV a couple of hours later, Jack reverted to brooding about Gabby. Yeah, he’d screwed up, but did she really believe he was cold-blooded enough to care only that she was a critical witness in a murder investigation? Hadn’t she noticed that he’d crossed town in half the time it should have taken, desperate to see with his own eyes that she was okay?

  His phone rang. Gabby, at last. Ric had still been in surgery an hour ago when Jack had last called her.

  “He’s in recovery,” she said, before he could get in a hello. “Ric’s chances are good, but there was a lot of damage. He was hit by two bullets. The surgeon kept thinking he could close, and they’d realize there was still bleeding somewhere.” Words kept tumbling out. “The head injury might be the greatest threat. He hit that hearth hard enough to fracture his skull.”

  “He’s tough, Gabby. In great physical condition, which will help in his recovery.”

  “There’s some swelling around his brain.” Now she sounded almost numb. “They might have to punch a hole in his skull to...to let fluid drain.”

  Crap. “I know you’re scared. Have faith, sweetheart.”

  She gave a broken laugh. “Is this when I start praying?”

  “Haven’t you already?”

  Silence, which was its own answer.

  “I’ll be there in just a few minutes.” He shut the hatch door. “I arranged for someone to nail plywood over the window.”

  “Front and back now.”

  “Yeah.” He almost said, Somebody has it in for you big-time, but knew she already had to be thinking the same—unless she was stuck on the fact that her brother had taken two bullets meant for her.

  “I’ll see you when you get here.”

  Making phone calls the whole way, Jack obeyed speed limits this time. He parked right in front of the emergency room entrance at the hospital in a
slot saved for law enforcement. He doubted the killer had hung around to see him load the boxes, but Jack still wanted his Tahoe highly visible from the ER.

  Upstairs, he suffered a jolt when he found the private waiting room empty, but when he snagged the first passing nurse, she told him Gabby had been allowed into recovery to see Ric.

  Ten minutes later, Gabby reappeared. The sight of her hit him hard. Her skin looked as if it had been stretched tight over her facial bones and her eyes were sunken, accented by dark half circles beneath them. Hair stuck out here and there from her usually smooth braid. Her lips lacked color.

  Wordless, he held out his arms. His heart cramped painfully when she hesitated, but at last she walked right to him. As he pulled her close, she wrapped both her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.

  Jack didn’t ask any questions, just offered physical comfort. Embracing her gave him comfort, too. Maybe she’d forgive him. The feel of her curves, the citrus scent of the glossy, if disheveled, hair beneath his cheek, her trust, they all gave him hope.

  Finally she sighed, and he had to relax his arms enough to let her step back. She looked up at him with shadowed eyes, and said, “He’s still unconscious.”

  “He did just have surgery,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, but...he should have opened his eyes by now.”

  “It’s not a surprise that he hasn’t.”

  “That’s what the surgeon said, but... I let myself think...”

  “Hey.” He tugged her over to the chairs, sat them down and shifted his chair so he faced her and could hold both her hands. “You have to give him time. Aren’t the doctors you’ve talked to optimistic?”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid they’re lying to me.” A couple of tears trembled on her lashes, and she swiped them away impatiently. “Did you find anything?”

  “Nothing useful.” The frustration he’d pushed down gained power again, like a flash flood. “We’ve got a couple of bullets, of course, but they’re a common caliber. The surgeon saved the two he dug out of Ric, although they’re not in great shape. The bullets are only useful when we have a gun to match them to. Otherwise...” Jack shook his head. “He fired through the glass from the front porch. Probably didn’t touch anything. With him using a suppressor, the few neighbors who were home didn’t hear a damn thing, except for a woman halfway down the block who went to her front window because she heard the roar of an engine accelerating to what had to be dangerous speed. They’ve had trouble with teenagers speeding, she says. She did get a glimpse of the vehicle, but of course not of the license plate.”