Greg’s been released. I’m taking him home.
She texted back. Can I meet you there?
She waited for the answer while starting her car, surveying her surroundings. The globed wrought iron streetlights blinked on and fog swirled above the sidewalk. Darkness had wrapped itself around the November day, and her heart.
Chapter Twelve
The Admiral texted back with Greg’s address, but she didn’t need GPS to find his home because it was only three blocks from where she lived. Mattie pulled into the complex and parked in a visitor spot. Closing her door, she strayed a look toward the street. The Dodge wasn’t hiding behind a bush and the only vehicle headlights she saw moved quickly down the road. Double checking the address, she aimed for the end unit of an upscale townhouse.
She knocked on the door and the Admiral answered. “He’s taking a shower.”
“Can appreciate that,” she said, stepping inside a bare, off-white entry hall with louvered closet doors.
She followed the Admiral down a short hallway void of any pictures or hangings, ending in the living room. A large flat screen TV, river rock fireplace and lush saddle colored suede sofas took up most of the space. Glass French doors offered a picturesque Victoria Harbour view and access to a backyard sloping to the water’s edge.
Scant decorations signalled a bachelor in residence. The fireplace mantle only had one framed photograph. She ventured closer. An olive-skinned woman with dark, long curly hair sat with a toddler on her lap and a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby in her arms. The woman’s eyes stared at her. Intense and deep.
“Need something to drink?” the Admiral asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Water.” She sat down and tucked her hands between her knees. “That’s Kayla, isn’t it?” She jumped to her feet and turned on the gas fireplace, then sat again.
“Cold?”
“Kind of,” she said, accepting the glass of water from the Admiral.
“He’s probably got coffee or tea around here.”
“No, thanks. I won’t stay long.”
Admiral Austen took a seat on the suede sofa across from her. His neck craned, and he looked at the photo. “We sent him a few. All the others have me in them.” He chuckled and swerved his gaze back to her.
“She’s really pretty. Is she part native?”
The Admiral nodded. “She grew up in the Queen Charlottes.”
“Haida tribe?”
“Yes.”
“One of her parents was white.”
The Admiral cleared his throat. “Her father.” One eye narrowed a little as he watched her. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Just tired.” She put the glass down. “Guess you’ll be going home now that Greg’s been released.”
He continued to size her up. “Something happened. What is it?”
“How would you know that?”
She tossed her hair across her shoulder and leaned forward. Sitting here was a bad idea. The wide couch looked comfortable and the corduroy pillow tempted her to rest her head, but she needed to get home, take a shower, and go on a date-slash-fact-finding mission.
“I’ll put some coffee on.” Greg’s familiar tone instantly soothed her nerves, as if the timbre of his voice was a safe haven against the temperamental storm brewing in her thoughts.
When she turned to look at him, her world shifted. He wore a black T-shirt, pair of faded jeans, and his bare feet put him back into the sexy GIF role, strolling across the tile floor. With his jet black hair a little wet and a little messy and those illuminating eyes, her tongue swelled.
Finally, her lips moved. “No, no—I’m fine. Really. I just wanted to know what the police said when they released you.”
The Admiral watched her from a comfortable pose with his arms stretched out on the back of the couch. When she ventured a look at him, a tiny grin rippled across his lips. Son-of-a-bitch, he knew she’d had a purely female response to Greg. Who was this guy? She knew he was an admiral but….
Greg finished making the coffee and seated himself beside her. She suddenly understood a goldfish’s dilemma.
Mattie stood up. “You can text me.”
Greg tossed a look at the Admiral, who shrugged good-naturedly.
“Si vous plait, sit down.” Greg gently gripped her hand, prodding her to sit. “Why are you tense? Something’s happened.”
“I’m not tense,” she sputtered. “I just finished explaining to the Admiral that I’m tired and…and the day isn’t over yet.”
Greg tilted his head and eyed her from beneath a dark bang. “It’s over,” he said.
“No, I have an appointment.”
“Date,” the Admiral intervened and corrected.
“Research,” she countered.
“No.” Greg shook his head. “Cancel it.”
“I can’t. He’s—”
His hand covered hers. “Mademoiselle,” he began.
Her thighs squeezed together. A perfectly natural reaction to a man like LaPierre. His touch was warm but his palms callused.
“First, you’ll tell us what has happened.”
“You first,” she retorted.
“Cream and sugar with your coffee?” he asked in his sexy, slow manner. His French accent ever present with each word.
“Cream.”
“Austen?” He rose to his full height and strolled into the kitchen.
The Admiral lifted a bottle in the air. “Got one of your beers, LaPierre. Thanks.” He turned the bottle in his hand to read the label. “This stuff is pretty good. I’m definitely coming back to Canada.”
Greg chuckled as he pulled a mug from the cabinet and a beer from the fridge for himself. “Local brewery. Dark Matter is worth making it home alive.”
The Admiral gruffed out a laugh. “You need more than that, Lieutenant Commander.”
“You married my other reason. Another beer?”
“No, thanks.”
Mattie watched the exchange and couldn’t figure out for the life of her if these two men actually liked or hated each other. Greg returned with a large steaming mug of coffee and placed it in front of her. “Why don’t you guys ever call each other by your first names?”
They both stopped and looked at each other. Then they both shrugged.
Greg sat beside her and leaned back. “Tell us what has you spooked.”
“Nothing at all.” Her voice did not fluctuate. She reminded herself that Greg was in love with the woman framed on the mantle. Even if the woman’s husband was sitting across from her. No guy that deeply in love with a woman would ever get over her. So get over him!
He broke into a laugh. Hard enough to make his broad shoulders rise and fall. He sat forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and he smelled friggin’ incredible as he nestled her against his side. “Tell me, cheri. I can see your unrest, and feel it.”
A flash of the Addams Family shot into her mind as Gomez went all gooey when Morticia spoke French. Up until meeting Greg, she actually had a bad case of west coast dislike for French Canadians. Mainly, she hated being forced into anything. The country was bilingual, but it didn’t mean she had to speak the language. In fact, she sucked at it. Looking across the coffee table at the Admiral didn’t help, with him grinning like he knew her deepest secrets.
Enough of the touchy feely stuff from the pop her brain cells hot guy.
Mattie pulled away and stood in front of the fire. Not that heat wasn’t ramping through her all of a sudden. “Okay, when I left the corrections center this afternoon, I had a visitor. He stopped me from leaving. Put his big black Dodge in the way of my car.”
“Sergeant Montgomery?” The Admiral asked.
The grins ceased and both men slowly leaned forward.
“What did he want?” Greg asked.
“He told me to be careful. To write my story but stay within the playing field. He didn’t want me investigating anything.”
The Admiral had a range of facial expressions, but his down
right dangerous expression scared her. “Did he threaten you?”
She hesitated sharing that she suspected the sergeant had something to do with Diana’s death. “No, just mentioned I should be very careful, and…he might have mentioned my health and career could be in jeopardy.”
“Mon Dieu,” Greg spouted. “Mattie, that is a threat. What else?”
Spilling the beans to these two felt similar to telling her older brothers when Brian Pascal bullied her in grade five. Her brothers beat the crap out of Brian and they’d all gotten in trouble.
“Ah, something about I had the power to start an irreversible frenzy that wouldn’t be good for the community if I meddled in things that aren’t my concern. He told me to write my story, but keep to the facts.” She plucked the mug from the table and took a long, slow sip. The warmth slid through her. Caffeine wasn’t supposed to calm the nerves, but the heat worked through her like a warm bath on a cold, wet day. Even though Greg’s presence heated her skin, her core remained chilled with uncertainty. “I need to get home. I’m running late.”
“Do you live alone?” Greg asked, staring up at her.
“No.” She paused. “Sort of. My roommate just announced she’s getting married. Her fiancé is a cop. RMCP. She’s been spending most nights over at his place.” She walked over to the sink and dumped the last few drops of coffee into the basin and washed out the cup. Keeping the kitchen counter between Greg and her seemed like a sane idea. “What did they say to you when you left the corrections facility?”
“Not to leave Canada. I’m still a person of interest.”
“They want to keep you in check, in other words.”
“Possibly.”
“More than possibly,” she retorted.
“Well, why don’t we go for dinner,” he suggested. “My fridge is pretty much empty.”
Did he have a hearing impairment? She extended her hand. “Good night and good luck.”
Greg’s green eyes strolled up her body and engaged her like a spike driven through a two by four. “Don’t go,” he said, solemnly.
“I have to. You’re out of jail, now I have to follow the leads to finish this story.”
“There’s something else you’re not telling us,” the Admiral said.
This guy was starting to freak her out.
“Maybe I haven’t made myself clear.” LaPierre stepped around the counter and into her space. “I don’t want you to go. This cop you’re seeing tonight might be luring you out.”
The Admiral piped up, “Relax, Lieutenant Commander. I’ll be on her tail.”
Greg’s hand slid across her shoulder and came to rest behind her neck. “You will?”
His hand was warm and strong and his thumb gently stroked her skin, causing a waterfall of shivers.
“We already agreed to it,” the Admiral confirmed from the couch.
She concentrated on the conversation versus Greg’s possessive touch. “But that was before Greg was released,” she argued. “I thought you were going home.”
The Admiral groaned and pushed himself to his feet. “I promised my wife I’d give him two weeks. I’m going upstairs for a few minutes and give her a report before she calls out the Canadian National Guard.”
“She make you do that a lot?” Greg asked, then broke into a shit-eating grin.
“You should know,” the Admiral said as he strolled down the hallway. “You did it for twenty years.”
“By the way, Canada doesn’t have a National Guard.” Greg winked at her and said loudly, “Americans! They’re clueless when it comes to Canada.”
From somewhere down the hall, the Admiral’s voice echoed. “God save the beaver.”
Mattie snorted out a chuckle at their sparring. “You two are funny.”
“He’s not so bad for an American.”
She backed up a step and Greg removed his hand. Her heart beat a heavy drum standing too close to him. “Well, under the circumstances, I guess it’s au revoir. Sorry, that’s all the French I know.” Greg’s smile dissipated as he watched her take another step away. “Good luck.” She swiftly walked down the hallway and shoved her foot into one of her boots at the front door.
As she stooped over, she saw his long, muscled, jean-clad legs appear beside her. She straightened to find he held his palm open, and her phone lay on it. “Stupid. Right. Think I need that.”
When she placed her palm over the cell, his hand closed around hers gently and he raised it to his mouth, kissing the top of her fingers. His other hand reached up and brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. “You’ll be safe with the Admiral watching you. He’s a legend in the United States Special Forces. And very deadly when required. He’ll protect you, but it should be me. I owe you that much for believing in me.”
She wished it was the nerve-tingling JTF2 hero who would be close by during her date with Stuart, but this was good-bye. “I know Stuart, and I don’t believe he’d hurt me, Lieutenant Commander.”
“Every man has a secret, mademoiselle. Some men are very dangerous and good at hiding it. Don’t trust him.”
“Thanks for the Edgar Allen Poe psychology lesson.”
Halfway down the walk, he called out to her. “Mattie, my name is Greg.”
She didn’t mind standing in the rain, watching his shadow on the doorstep. It’d probably be the last time she’d ever see him. “Good luck, Greg. Stay out of prison.”
“After your…date. Come back. I have an extra room. I think it’s safer for you.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks anyway. Take care of yourself.”
He stepped onto the stoop. “Don’t go home with him.”
“I told you, I don’t do things like that. I’m not a slut.”
“You’re a lady, I could see that the moment I met you. Bonsoir, Mattie.”
The way her name rolled from his mouth, the tinge of his accent left her a little breathless, or maybe it’s because she couldn’t stop her heart from thudding in her chest.
* * * *
Why the heck did someone always have to call when a girl is in the shower with a head full of shampoo? She cracked open the glass door and stretched her arm to scoop her phone from the top of the toilet tank. “Hello?”
“Mattie, can you talk?”
“Gary, yes, one…one second.” She turned off the water and wrapped her hair in a towel to keep the soap from her eyes. “What did you find?”
“Blunt force trauma on the back of his head. This could have been caused by a fall if he had a stroke or a heart attack.”
“Did he?”
“No. In fact, I found nothing to explain his death by natural causes. I kept looking and found an injection site. I’ve sent the blood work to toxicology, but I’m willing to bet it will come back with an explanation such as an overdose of barbiturates.”
“He wasn’t a drug addict. Just an old man trying to scrape by. I spoke with him. He wasn’t drunk.”
“I believe you, Mattie. Unfortunately, we can’t prove he didn’t overdose himself, although I found no other needle marks except the one.”
“Someone has backtracked and made sure he didn’t talk, but he had already. To me. They know this. The question is how do I catch them?”
Gary surprised her. “You don’t. Talk to your Chief Editor. Tell him what you know. He can make the call on whether this story is important enough and how it should be told.”
“Gary, Bart is a gutless piece of shit. He kowtows to anyone who has status. Sergeant Montgomery is already leading him by the nose. This is my story. If there’s a bad cop at the detachment, then I need to find out who and why?”
“You know what your father would say about this.”
“Don’t you dare call and tell him. I don’t want to be having an all-night debate with him.” She flipped the switch to start the fan. Steam covered the mirror and she swiped her hand across the glass.
“I want you to check in with me every night, young lady.”
“Aw, come on!”
/> “I’m serious. If I don’t hear from you by nine p.m. every night, I’m sending the RMCP. I know plenty of them and so does your father.”
“Fine, but you won’t hear from me tonight because I’ve got a date.”
He chuckled. “Well I don’t think a date is dangerous.”
She decided against sharing who exactly she was dating. “Thanks, Gary.”
“Be careful.”
Mattie stared at her reflection marred by water droplets on the mirror. Just like her investigation, it was hard to get a clear picture. She unraveled the towel and dropped it on the counter to resume her shower. A police officer could not be the Ripper. Stuart could not be involved in something as sinister as murdering innocent women.
She stepped back into the shower’s glass enclosure and stood under a hot blast of water. But no matter how hot or how long she stood there, the pulsating spray didn’t wash away her doubts.
Chapter Thirteen
By seven sharp, Mattie parked on Pandora Street. Waiting for a pause in the traffic, she trotted across Wharf Street and walked toward Nautical Nellies restaurant, an old building, as were most near the downtown core. Rust colored brick walls encased the quaint eatery with a fisherman’s net strung across the ceiling. Starfish and seashells tangled between the woven ropes added a nautical feel. Across the timber cross beams, wooden buoys and lobster traps enhanced the marine deco.
Stuart rose from a leather wrapped bench when she stepped into the lobby.
“Hello!” he greeted, and popped a quick kiss on her cheek.
“Hi. Hungry?”
“Really hungry. Our table’s ready.”
They wandered through the dimly lit restaurant accented with candles on each table to a window seat facing the harbour. “Nice.”
Stuart waited for her to sit before taking his own seat.
In a button down shirt and black blazer, he made a handsome image, but nothing remotely close to Greg’s mysterious, raw aura. After seeing him at home instead of in a corrections centre, something tugged at her heart. He had a natural gait like a panther when he walked. Sleek and all toned muscle. His stride. His voice. But most of all, the way Greg looked at her made—
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