by L. A. Fiore
“How is she?”
“Just a bump on the head. We’ll keep her for a few days for observation, to make sure the fall wasn’t a symptom of something else.”
“Is she awake?”
“In and out, we’re not allowing visitors tonight. In the morning we will reassess.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Relief was like getting pummeled by a crashing wave. She was going to be okay, but anger replaced relief. I had been home. Right down the hall and yet I locked myself in my apartment to work. How long had she been lying there?
“I was home. I should have checked on her sooner.”
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
“She is elderly. I should have checked on her.”
“Has she ever fallen before?”
“No.”
“From what I’ve seen she’s a spry elderly woman and suspect she would take issue with you acting like she’s an invalid. You got her here and she is going to be fine. Don’t harp on what could have been.”
He was right, damn it. Mrs. Cooke would box my ears if she knew I hinted that she was in any way limited. “Thank you for coming.”
He didn’t answer, but he did reach for my hand again and led me to the car.
I had missed this, having him close. Having him to lean on. And I was grateful that he had dropped everything to be there for me. “What were you doing when I called?”
“Running.”
I hadn’t expected that answer particularly since I detested the idea of running. “At seven at night?”
“Whenever I can fit it in.”
Green Berets had some serious training requirements; one such requirement was running two miles in something crazy like 12 minutes. That took some serious stamina; well at least it seemed so to me. I researched Green Berets after learning Damian was one. “And after your run what would you have done?”
“Catch the news then sleep.”
“Thank you for coming.”
We reached the car but instead of opening the door he turned into me and touched my chin with his thumb. “What happened to Mrs. Cooke wasn’t your fault.”
“I know.”
His eyes moved over my face and I really liked the way he looked at me. “I want your letters.”
My heart melted. “They’re yours, so absolutely.”
Mrs. Cooke was doing well. A week after her fall and she was home. She didn’t remember much from that night and seemed confused with what she did remember. I didn’t push for answers. I was just happy she was on the mend. Her friend Betty and I were taking turns staying with her so she wasn’t alone. We also thought it best to keep it to just one visitor at a time so we didn’t overwhelm her with us both doting. Betty was on tonight, so I was having dinner with Anton. It was something we started years ago and tried to manage at least once a month. We had agreed on Dahlia’s, and despite him offering to pick me up, I was right down the street. I did, at his insistence, take a cab. I was there before him, so I waited at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. The turning of heads a few minutes after seven meant he had arrived, his focus going around the restaurant until it landed on me. The smile was instant as he moved through the tables.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Only a few minutes.”
“I’ll see about our table.”
“Would you like me to order you a drink?”
“Please, Maker’s Mark, on the rocks.”
He walked to the hostess station and the women in the restaurant followed his every move. I chuckled before ordering his drink.
“Our table is ready.”
He reached for his glass while addressing the bartender. “Add these to our tab.”
He led me through the restaurant, his hand on the small of my back as he maneuvered us through the tables to ours, one tucked in a dark corner.
He held my chair before taking his seat. Gracefully was how he moved when he pulled out the chair and folded his large body into it.
“I’m finally eating at your favorite restaurant.” He looked around. “It suits you.”
He was right; it did suit me because it was quaint, eclectic and artsy.
“The food is amazing,” I added.
“Any suggestions?”
“Everything on the menu is delicious.”
For the next few minutes we looked over the options. The waitress approached, falling over herself to get to Anton. He didn’t even look at her when he placed our orders and requested a bottle of wine and two glasses. Based on her expression, the bottle was clearly an expensive one.
“How’s Mrs. Cooke?”
“She’s good, thank God. It’s so scary. I think she should get one of those alert bracelets. I don’t know how long she was like that and I was home and didn’t know she needed help.”
“That’s probably not a bad idea. I can help you look into it if you want.”
“I’d like that.”
The waitress returned and uncorked the bottle. After pouring a splash, Anton lifted the glass. He had elegant hands, which was deceiving since I knew those hands were capable of some very bad things. He brought the glass to his lips. Something I had seen countless times and yet when he did, it was an elegant motion. He swished the wine around his mouth for a second before lowering the glass.
“That will do.”
The waitress poured a glass for me before topping his off then left the bottle and hurried away.
“Try it. It’s quite good.” I lifted the glass and took a sip and then almost died and went to heaven. My appreciation was clearly seen on my face when Anton smiled. “You like it.”
“Like it? I’d have an affair with it.”
“Damian is looking into what happened to Mrs. Cooke.”
I parroted his comment because I had no idea where it came from. “Looking into what happened to her. What do you mean?”
“It could be nothing, just a fall like the doctor said, but it is in Damian’s nature to learn for himself.”
“Is he thinking it wasn’t an accident?”
“You live in the same building, on the same floor, and are friends with her. There’s a connection and Damian would like to rule out other possible scenarios.”
“But she’s just an old woman. Why would anyone want to hurt her?”
“Most likely no one did, but that’s not something he would assume.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m grateful that he’s so cautious, but I can’t help but think the three of you find trouble in everything, even when it doesn’t exist. There has been nothing, no attempt at all. A lot of attention is being paid to my safety for what seems like no reason.”
“I’m sorry to say that isn’t the case. When you are around danger long enough, it is easier to spot.”
“So there is trouble brewing?”
“Yes.”
That was not a comforting thought, but I wasn’t going to obsess. The guys were on it and I would do my part and be careful.
Anton didn’t elaborate on the trouble. He seemed to be of the same mindset as me, of not making me worry. He brushed past that topic and instead said, “And he cares. This is how he shows it.”
I knew that and knew of several other ways he liked to show he cared that I liked even more.
Our meals arrived and for a little while we ate in comfortable silence, though my thoughts lingered on the news that Damian thought there might be more to what happened to Mrs. Cooke. I hated the idea that she could have been hurt because of me. I put it from my head and hoped he was wrong. After our dishes were removed, Anton reached for his glass of wine. He looked so relaxed and yet I knew he was taking in everything around him. “What do you want for dessert?”
“The crème brûlée is killer here but the pumpkin tart with nutmeg ice cream sounds delicious too.”
“Get both and we’ll share.”
“Yay! Exactly what I hoped you would say.”
“So how has it been with Damian?”
Just h
earing his name pulled a smile. “We’re older, but we’re not so different. Why didn’t you tell me sooner that he was home?”
“I thought you knew. I thought he came to see you, so I was more than a little surprised by your reaction when I did.”
“Cam didn’t tell me either. He assumed too.” I reached for my glass of wine. “Damian is definitely more reserved than he was and keeps his feelings really close to his chest. We allowed doubt to dictate our reunion, at least I did, because what we felt as kids was so intense. But it is still there, the love and attraction. He told me he had intended to ask me to come back with him that night so long ago when I was a drunken fool. I would have gone with him. I wish he had asked, wished he hadn’t been called away before he could.” I took a sip of my wine, lost in thought before I added, “I don’t understand why he never tried asking me again.”
“Have you asked him?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
“And now?”
“He is home, back in the neighborhood, and we both still feel it, so I think we have finally gotten our timing right.”
His smile in reply said it all.
Our desserts arrived. The waitress put the crème brûlée in front of Anton and the pumpkin tart in front of me. I split the tart and ice cream, putting his half on the unused bread plate and slid it over the table to him before I tasted a forkful and moaned in sheer bliss when the flavors exploded on my tongue.
“It’s better than sex.”
I hadn’t realized I said that out loud until I heard Anton’s reply. “You’re not doing sex right if that’s the case.”
My eyes flew open to find him grinning at me. When it came to sex, I was seriously out of practice. He made a good point though. Sex with Damian had always been mind-blowing. I really hoped I got a refresher on that and soon. “I need a filter.”
“I like that you say exactly what you think.”
“It’s a condition actually, Tourette’s.” I glanced up from my dessert, but he wasn’t eating. “Aren’t you going to try it?”
“I’m enjoying watching you, ever the enthusiast for sugar.”
I glared and he chuckled again before he lifted his fork. “It’s very good,” he said as he pushed the crème in my direction and having the metabolism that I had, I finished off both desserts.
A little while later, Anton signaled for the waitress. I reached for my clutch to pay. He glared. He handed over a black credit card. I thought to argue with him but he wasn’t a man one argued with and won. “Thank you.”
He stood then pulled out my chair. He kept me close, like right up against him as we left the restaurant. When we reached my door, Anton didn’t immediately release me. “Thank you for joining me for dinner.”
“Thanks for suggesting it.”
“I’m really happy that you and Damian are finally getting a chance.”
That was the understatement of the year, but to him I said, “Me too.”
“Lock your door and arm your system.”
Our conversation earlier about Mrs. Cooke and how it was possible she hadn’t just fallen freaked me out, which was why I answered with just, “Okay.”
“Sweet dreams.”
“Night.”
I closed and locked my door and set the alarm and still I pushed a chair under the knob.
It was late when the phone rang. I reached for it cursing under my breath because I had finally fallen asleep after tossing and turning for most of the night due to Anton’s dire prediction of looming trouble.
“Hello.”
No answer. It was likely a sales call, the cold dials that took a beat or two to actually patch through to a representative, but doubt wiggled in because this wasn’t the first late night call like this I’d received. And Anton had freaked me out a bit at dinner. Not to mention I had felt on several occasions someone watching me. If this was related, how did they get my cell number? What did they want? Or was it just plain old drunk dials. I rolled over, closed my eyes and tried for sleep. I was just on the cusp of it when the phone rang again. Fear had my hand shaking and like before there was no answer. I hung up then looked at the number. Private. I turned off my phone. I needed to tell Damian about the calls, it wasn’t a coincidence I was receiving them now. And that thought kept me up for the rest of the night.
In the morning I was dragging. I had planned to get an early start, but I needed more sleep. Damian needed to know about the calls though, so I called him and got his voice mail.
“Hey, it’s Thea. I just wanted to share that I got two wrong numbers last night around three and half past three in the morning. Private number. This isn’t the first time either, it happened a few weeks ago too. It seems like something you should know. Later.”
I left my phone on the counter and headed back to bed. I was ripped from sleep an hour or so later by the pounding at my door. I had been in true REM sleep so I felt a bit drunk as I stumbled to the front door. I didn’t even bother looking out the peephole when I yanked open the door while saying. “What the fuc—”
It was Damian and he looked pissed, but his expression changed as he moved his gaze slowly down my body. It was only then that I remembered I was wearing nothing but a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. Oops.
“Where’s your phone?”
“Good morning to you too.”
He actually fisted his hands and those hot eyes fixed on me. “It will be a fucking hell of a lot better than good if you don’t cover yourself up.”
It was tempting to pull my tank off in invitation, but now wasn’t the time. “My phone is in the kitchen.”
He didn’t wait for me and was already looking at my call list when I joined him, after detouring for my robe. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Just the two calls?”
“Yes. Is that a no for coffee?”
He looked up from the phone. “Yes to the coffee.”
“Have you determined what happened to Mrs. Cooke?”
“Yes. I’m taking this.” He pulled out his phone. “Take mine for the day.”
It didn’t pass my notice that he didn’t answer my question. “I don’t need it, I’m not leaving my apartment.”
“Take it anyway. You leave the apartment, you call me first.”
I wasn’t going to argue with the man. It was too early and I didn’t have caffeine coursing through my veins yet.
“What do you know about your neighbor Jerry Castile?”
“I don’t know him. He moved in about a month ago.”
“In his fifties?”
“Yeah. I never met him, but Mrs. Cooke did. She was trying to hook me up with him. Why?” I was in the middle of adding sugar to my coffee when I answered my own question. “He was the one to hurt Mrs. Cooke?”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He has a rap sheet as long as my arm. A history of moving into buildings and robbing them.”
“Oh my God. Don’t they do background checks on potential tenants?”
“They’re supposed to, but his information was pretty well hidden.”
“He was right under our noses the whole time. Do you think she walked in on him robbing her?”
“She’s vague on the details, but yeah. She probably startled him.”
“I was right here. I never heard a thing.” I was sick in the stomach knowing I had been so close while she fended off an intruder.
“Don’t.”
“It wasn’t my fault, doesn’t change the fact that it sucks I was here and was unable to help her.”
I put his coffee in a travel mug since I knew he wasn’t staying. He would want to follow up on this Castile guy. I handed it to him. He had the oddest look on his face.
“You’re not staying, but you wanted coffee.”
“Thanks. Do not leave with—”
“Without calling you, I know.”
He started for the door. “I like your pajamas. There’s only one thing I like on you more.”
; That comment was unexpected and tummy flipping, especially recalling how he had looked when I opened the door. “What do you like on me more?”
He had reached the door and was halfway through it when he looked back and grinned. “Me.”
The door closed on his chuckle and I headed to the bathroom for a nice cold shower.
Mom showed up on my doorstep the following morning, but instead of her normal wackiness, she was frighteningly serious. She pushed into my apartment before spinning around and leveling her no-nonsense look at me.
“What’s going on? I had the most unusual conversation with Miranda the other day.”
Betty and I were still taking turns spending time with Mrs. Cooke. She didn’t want to be home alone and we didn’t want her to be home alone either. What I hadn’t known about her was that she was a conspiracy theorist and under the circumstances she wasn’t wrong, but her theories were so far from the reality of things…little green men, spaceships. I believed in aliens, don’t get me wrong, but the man that attacked her had been human, not a bloodthirsty extraterrestrial. He was also gone. I didn’t know what happened to him, suspected Damian and Anton were behind it, but Betty, who had been crushing on the man, informed me that he had all but disappeared.
“I don’t believe aliens invaded her home, but someone did. What happened?”
“One of the tenants who recently moved in had sticky fingers.”
Mom’s face paled since she caught on immediately. “She walked in on him robbing her.”
“Yeah.”
“Where is this pillar of the community now?”
“Gone. My guess Damian is ‘questioning him’.”
“I think I’d like to see Damian questioning him.”
“You and me both.”
“Miranda is going to stay with me for a while. I know you and Betty have been taking turns, but I think she’ll feel safer being away from here completely.”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
“Maybe you should too.”
“I rarely leave my apartment and when I do I have to call Damian first.”
“That’s not a hardship, but why do you have to call Damian? Is it related to what Cam is investigating?”