by LM Spangler
“Hmm…good. Do you love me?”
She leaned up on her elbow. “Ian, I’ve never stopped loving you, not even when you left. After that, I tried like hell to hate you, but it never happened.”
“Say it.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.
“I love you, Ian.” The words flowed so easily from her lips. In a matter of days, he’d wound his way back into her heart. Pretty easily done, considering he’d never stopped being a part of her. “Ian?”
“Hmm…” His hand drifted up and down her ribs and hip.
“Whose idea was it for you to leave like you did?” Nana had told her the story, but Summer needed to hear it from him.
“Let me say first that the band treated me and my aunt and uncle great from day one. They aren’t at fault. They were in a situation where they needed an immediate replacement for the member who’d left. They already had a place for me to stay and agreed to buy my aunt and uncle a house in the hills. The catch was an immediate departure.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and exhaled heavily. “My aunt and uncle told me in no uncertain terms that we were leaving right then and there. I got into the biggest argument with my aunt. She kept saying we had to hurry, that it was an opportunity we couldn’t pass up. She was like a woman possessed. I remember her ripping the phones cords right out of their jacks. I tried to leave the house to tell you in person, but my uncle physically stopped me. They told me how important it was to them, how I owed it to them. I wanted to say goodbye, but instead I got guilt-tripped into going. When we got to LA, things were hellasiously busy with all the press, recording the new album, the parties. Then came the alcohol. Then I pretty much became a dick. By then my aunt and uncle were on a power-trip.”
“We never conversed much with your aunt and uncle while they were here. Not because we disliked them, but we never seemed to click.”
He snorted. “You never would have gotten along with them, or my aunt in particular. I never realized, or I chose not to, that my aunt was a manipulative, self-centered bitch.”
She laughed softly. “Gee, Ian. Tell me how you really feel about her.”
“She is what she is.”
“I’m so sorry. I never imagined her to be that way.”
She couldn’t imagine family acting like that. Her parents might reside in Arizona, but they talked every week. Like clockwork. Every Sunday night. Even if it was just a five-minute conversation, they always touched base.
“No need to be sorry. I chalk it up to lessons learned. Now they’re in LA fending for themselves. Before I left, I contacted the band’s lawyer to make sure I could make a clean break. I was under no legal obligation to stay in LA and under no legal obligation to continue supporting them. I booted them out of the mansion they lived in because the band had put the house in my name. I evicted them and sold it. Legally, the money was mine, and the band told me to go, to use the money to straighten myself out.”
“So, here you are.” She laid her head on his chest, the crisp hairs tickling her cheek. His masculine scent permeated her senses, relaxing her. His heart beat strong under her ear, the rhythm lulling her. “I’m tired. You wore me out.”
Laughter rumbled in his chest. “You’re welcome. Go to sleep.” He nuzzled closer to her. “I love you.”
She carried those last three words into sleep.
Chapter 6
Wood smoked, baconey goodness awoke Ian, and his mouth watered. He threw off the blankets and climbed out of bed. A fluffy, white robe had been laid across the foot of it. He slid his arms into it and wrapped it around his body. He stretched his muscles and ignored the various cracking joints.
He took the opportunity to study her room in daylight. Walls, painted a light silver-gray color, matched Summer’s eyes. A strip of pinkish-orange wrapped around the room, bordered by a turquoise stripe. The furnishings were slick, no-fuss, streamlined black. Her bedding was medium gray with a comforter in gray with orange and blue designs swirling over its surface. A dark gray rug anchored the whole scheme.
He ambled into the kitchen. Summer stood at the stove, wrapped in a paisley patterned robe. Her feet were sexily bare with her toenails painted bright pink. Golden blonde hair tumbled over her shoulder. A more beautiful sight would never be seen at—he glanced at the clock on the wall—eight o’clock in the morning.
“Hi, gorgeous. That bacon smells so good,” he commented as he snatched a piece off the pile.
She smacked his hand. “That’s for the eggs I’ll be making shortly. Get yourself a cup of coffee. It’s almost as good as Raine’s.”
“Thank you.” He grabbed the mug she’d set out for him and popped a pod in the coffee maker. “And thanks for the robe.” He ran his fingers up and down the lapel.
“No problem on both. The robe is an extra for when my family visits.”
He sipped his coffee as he observed her. Summer stood at ease, comfortable with his presence. She hummed an Urban Flood song under her breath as she fetched eggs from the refrigerator and scrambled enough for the two of them. She even asked him to toast and butter the bread.
“You’re okay with me being here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.” She shoveled a pile of eggs, bacon, and toast on two plates and handed one to him. “I’ve become a realist in the years that we’ve been apart. I take things as they come, either good or bad. I don’t sugarcoat anything, and I hope that others would do the same for me. I view this...” She opened her arms, encompassing the room. “...as a good thing.”
He dove into his breakfast, satisfied with her answer. She’d always been the levelheaded one, even when they were eighteen and had first starting dating. “What are your plans for the day?” he asked when he finally came up for air.
“I have to make some inventory for our summer line. And you?”
A grin spread quickly across his face. “I’m getting my floor displays and merchandise to put on the aforementioned displays.”
She smiled over the rim of her mug. “It’s coming together for you, isn’t it? Soon you’ll have a successful music store. Plus...you got me back,” she said with no false modesty.
“Glad to hear it. I need to get dressed so I can run home and shower. Then I’ll return and we can go to see Nana at Raine’s.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She rose and collected their plates. “I’ll shower as well and be ready when you get back.”
He walked behind her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and leaned in to smell her hair. He loved her smell. Hell, he loved everything about her. Even her disheveled hair.
That reminded him that his hair must look wonderful. He ran his hand over his head and found half his hair stuck up and the other half was flattened.
Snorting to himself, he spun her around. “Gimme a kiss.” He planted a hard kiss on her lips. “I’m going to change.”
He quickly dressed, kissed her goodbye, and stepped into the cool, morning air. Within minutes, he was unlocking his back door and in his kitchen.
He popped a coffee pod into his coffee maker and then went upstairs to shower and dress.
Hot water sluiced over him as he shampooed his hair and then soaped his body. Everything in his life had fallen into place. He got the store and the girl. The only thing catawampus was the freak sending them bloody car parts.
He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, running it over his hair and then hooking it around his waist.
Anger simmered through him. Targeting him was one thing, but the bastard had to draw in Summer and her employee. What was worse was the fact that he couldn’t begin to fathom why the creep was sending car parts. It made no sense. He’d never been in a car crash. Never had a ticket, which was a miracle seeing he had drunk...a lot.
He padded into his bedroom, snagged a pair of jeans from one dresser, and a black t-shirt from another. Meandering into the bathroom, he grabbed his pomade, rubbed some in his palms, and then over his hair, adding some semblance of a hairstyle. To finish t
he ensemble, he slid his feet into his ever-present Doc Martens boots.
Soon he walked into the morning sunshine again, on his way to Summer’s. Cars and trucks sped by as he walked the hill to the square. He crossed Canal Road and strode down the alley behind his store to Summer’s house.
Ian stepped onto the porch and noticed a small, brown, wrapped box sticking out of her wall-mounted mailbox. He opened her front door and yelled down the hallway. “Summer, you have a package in your mailbox.”
She joined him, stepped outside, and reached for the parcel. “Damn.”
Ian looked over her shoulder. A few letters of the name were visible and the handwriting was all too familiar. “Don’t touch it. We’d better call Officer Burkhardt.”
She nodded and rubbed her arms, the knowledge of who sent the package raising goosebumps along her skin. “Let’s go inside.”
When they reached the kitchen, she grabbed her cellphone off the charger on the counter. She punched the number Ian supplied and waited for the police officer to answer.
Ian stepped away to give her room to talk. Anger flared, hot and pure, and became a wildfire of emotions. The creep had been to her house. Summer’s house.
He knew for sure he wasn’t leaving her alone until they caught whoever was behind this twisted game. If the person ever laid a hand on Summer, he’d rip the son of a bitch’s heart out.
“He’s on his way.” Summer laid her hands on his shoulders and began a rhythmic kneading of his taut muscles.
“Oh. Ah. Yes.” His shoulders were the instruments, and she was the maestro. “Where did you learn to massage?” He rolled his neck, feeling the vertebrae crack.
“Colt would always complain about his shoulders and back, because lifting those diamonds was strenuous work. He knew it drove me crazy. I’d rub his back to shut him up. Anyway, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we should wait outside for the police.” She gave one last squeeze.
“To be continued.”
“Deal.”
Summer grabbed a cardigan off a coat hook in the foyer and threw it over her shoulders.
The medium brown shade complimented her peach-colored shirt and khaki, slim-fit, cropped pants. She’d wrapped her long hair into a messy bun and secured it with a clip. She looked as fresh as the spring morning.
“You know.” She lowered herself into one of the wicker chairs on her front porch. “I can’t for the life of me think of what I’ve done wrong that involved a car. I’ve never been in an accident. Never got a ticket.” She kneaded her hands together, a nervous habit.
Ian sat in the second wicker chair and took her hands in his. “I know. Neither have I. And that says a lot knowing I was a drunkard. I’ve never drank and drove. Unlike my father. He spent years in jail for alcohol related offenses, some of which were driving under the influence. That was where he died, his liver destroyed.”
“How did your meeting go?” She wrung her fingers even more. “I wasn’t sure if I should ask or not. I have no idea how they work.”
“It was fine. The guy we saw in the diner was there. He went by Junior C.”
“Small world. You were only drinking heavily for two years. I thought you had to be drinking for years to be an alcoholic.”
Ian closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of how best to respond to her statement. “I drank to kill the mental pain I was in. It became a crutch. To be happy, I had to drown my sorrows, every day, every hour. I’d start the days off with a shot of whiskey in my coffee.”
He shook his head, the self-loathing rising and rearing its ugly head.
“I didn’t realize I had a problem until I lost it all. The guys in the band gave me an ultimatum—quit drinking or get kicked out of the band. In order to stop drinking, I had to leave the band, which I did voluntarily.”
His gaze met hers.
“I had the first drink the night I arrived in Los Angeles, when I knew I’d lost you. Damn my aunt and uncle.” His grip tightened on the chair’s arm, his knuckles turning white. “They convinced me that I was making the right decision. It took me going sober to realize I was their cash cow and that they’d bled me dry. At that point in my life, I had lost it all. You, the band, my wealth. It’s all finally coming together again.”
Summer laid her hand on top of his, and they sat in companionable silence. Nervous energy revved his system. He couldn’t stay still. His toes tapped an up-tempo beat.
Gravel crunched under tires as Officer Burkhardt pulled into her driveway. The trunk opened and his petite companion rounded the car to retrieve something from the trunk.
Ian and Summer rose.
“Morning. May I introduce Criminal Investigator Adelaide Zeigler?”
Officer Burkhardt was tall and lanky whereas his companion was maybe five feet and one hundred pounds soaking wet. The contrast would be comical had the situation been different.
CI Zeigler may have looked small and weak, but the way she walked and moved spoke of strength and purpose. Intelligent green eyes surveyed the area. A curling, blonde ponytail showed a no-nonsense attitude. Her dark blue polo shirt with her name embroidered over her breast and loose-fit khaki pants allowed for ease of movement. Her crime scene kit was nearly half her size, but she hauled it with no problem. Competence emanated from her in waves.
“Sir, ma’am. Is this the crime scene in question?”
“Yes, it is. We didn’t touch it.” Summer rocked on her heels.
“Very smart, ma’am.” She faced the officer. “May I begin processing?”
“Knock yourself out, CI Zeigler.” Officer Burkhardt nodded.
CI Zeigler laid her kit on the ground, grabbed latex gloves, and snapped them into place. She gazed at the mailbox from different angles, nodding every now and then.
“Let’s leave her to it. Do you mind answering some questions inside?” Officer Burkhardt motioned toward the front door.
“Not at all,” Ian answered as he placed his hand on the small of Summer’s back, gently moving her forward. He opened the door. “After you.”
Summer entered the house, followed by the officer, and Ian brought up the rear.
“Would you care for a cup of coffee, Officer Burkhardt?” Summer asked when they reached the kitchen.
“I wouldn’t say no,” he answered.
“Please sit,” Summer said as she placed a coffee pod into the brewer and a large mug to catch the coffee.
The officer lowered his bulk onto a kitchen stool at the island. Summer placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
“Thank you, Ms. Duncan.” He reached into his front shirt pocket and produced a small recorder. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
Both Ian and Summer shook their heads.
The officer announced his name, then Summer and Ian’s, and the date for legal purposes. “Okay, who spotted the package and when?”
“I did,” Ian answered and explained how he came upon the package.
Summer had little to add as she had been told about the box. She could concur that she didn’t believe it was there last night when they got to her place. The officer asked a few more questions and then clicked the recorder off.
“Not much to go on,” he said. “It seems the perpetrator is not afraid to be seen, but is so innocuous that no one gives him a second thought. The perp is patient, in no rush to end this game. But to him it’s not a game. It’s a means to an end. And I wished to hell I knew what the end was. At any rate, I will question your neighbors. Perhaps they saw he/she or a vehicle.”
“The person strikes me as very methodical. Everything is happening in a specific time frame determined by he or she.” Summer rubbed her temples. “It makes no frickin’ sense to me.”
“I agree.” Officer Burkhardt stood. “Thank you for the coffee. I’m going to check on CI Zeigler.”
“We’ll follow you out,” Ian commented as he waited for Summer, and then he gently ushered her toward the door.
“Safe to come out?” Officer Burk
hardt asked as he cracked the storm door open.
“Yes, sir. Just avoid the area I’m working in.”
The three of them walked onto the porch.
CI Zeigler was on her hands and knees, holding a film of some type over the area below the mailbox.
“What do you got, Addy?” Officer Burkhardt asked.
“I saw faint—and I mean really faint—shoe impressions below the mailbox. They could belong to Ms. Duncan, but I decided to process anyway.”
After a succession of moves, she grabbed her camera and photographed the impression.
“And I’m done,” she announced as she gently put the film into a manila folder, and then rose, lifting the hefty case in one swift movement. “It was a pleasure to meet you both. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“I agree,” Summer concurred as she followed the CI and the officer down the drive to their official vehicle, a black Dodge Charger with yellow reflective lettering. “Let me know if we can be of any further assistance.”
“I’ll contact you after Addy processes the package and its contents,” Officer Burkhardt said as they got inside the car. “After I drop Addy off at the station, I’ll return to question your neighbors.”
“Okay. Have a good day.” Summer waved as they backed down the drive and drove down the alley. “Hell of a great way to start the day.” Summer kicked a stone across the alley. “Damn it.”
“I know. Pisses me off too. It’s about time for you to open shop. I’ll walk you over, and then I have a meeting with your sister to go over her most recent design ideas. With any amount of luck, we’ll get started with the feature wall.” He rubbed his hands together. “Soon I’ll have a store of my own.”
“You know,” Summer said as she walked into the house. “You may want to put up a help wanted sign. You’ll need at least one employee. You’ll lose your mind if you try to do it all yourself.”
Ian added her advice to his mental list of things to do before he opened shop.