by Trish Reeb
"When did you last eat?"
Didn't matter. "I can’t go in the kitchen." Not until someone disposed of the microwave and maybe not even then.
Detective Grant stood. "You going to live on Chinese take-out? Let that cockroach win?"
He relocated to the kitchen. Alex heard a scraping sound and, seconds later, the door to the laundry room opened, closed. Ditto the door to the garage. Then the garage door hummed for the duration of its ascent.
Had he left without saying good-bye? She came off the couch but sat again at the sound of the back door closing and footsteps on the tile floor she recognized as his. He didn’t return to the living room but remained in the kitchen.
Items scraped across the refrigerator's glass shelves. Pantry doors opened and closed. Cupboards and drawers banged shut, a low thunk on the counter. It sounds like he’s cooking. What in the world had he found to make? She hadn’t grocery shopped and he hadn’t disappeared long enough to run to the store. A clunk. Another one, then two more. Whisking. Silence. A soft sizzling. Eggs. He’s making eggs. Her stomach growled, her mouth watered.
Twenty minutes later Detective Grant appeared in the living room, crooking his finger.
She shook her head.
"Fixed us something to eat."
"I use the dining room for company."
He crossed the space between them and caressed her hand. "It’ll be okay, I promise."
Inhaling, Alex blew the air out and inched her way slowly to the kitchen doorway. Two places had been set at the table in the breakfast nook. She stared at her reflection in the black windows across the room. I forgot to close the blinds. She stepped over to them and pulled the cord to the vertical blinds, blocking out the eyes of the night. Her back to Detective Grant and to the kitchen, Alex sniffed. She smelled eggs. Nothing else.
Squaring her shoulders, she pivoted. Her eyes swept the granite countertops and came to rest on the spot where the free-standing microwave had been. She blinked. A coffee pot and toaster now sat in its place. If she hadn’t known differently, she’d think they’d been there all along.
He had to be the sweetest guy on the planet. She gazed at him. "Thanks." Motioning to the counter, she said, "That helps."
"It’ll get easier," he said, his voice nasal.
Probably hadn’t helped his allergies going in and out of the laundry room where she'd housed her cat. "Is Sid still locked up?"
" I’m a cop. What do you think?" He carried two plates he’d been warming on the stove over to the table. "Let’s eat."
CHAPTER 28
They ate omelets and Jiffy biscuits with strawberry jam.
"Nice place," Cole said, skimming the room. "Win the lottery?"
Alex’s features puddled and she dropped her hands to her lap. "I wish. My folks died, leaving my brothers and me each a sizable trust."
"Jeez, I’m sorry," he said, regretting the way he’d framed the question.
"Happened ten years ago," Alex said.
"You’re not over it."
"Sometimes." She smiled, forking her eggs. "This omelet's yummy. You like to cook?"
He nodded. "Relaxes me."
"Pop did, too." She bit into her biscuit.
"Tell me about your folks," he said. "Unless you’d rather not."
"It’s okay. I love talking about them. Pop had been chief cardiologist at Henry Ford Hospital and Mom a best selling author. She wrote under her maiden name, Kim O’Reilly. Unless you read mysteries, you may not have heard of her."
A pang hit his heart. "She's my wife’s fave."
An alphabet of emotions crossed Alex’s face. "When Mom died, she'd written half of Suddenly Angels. I finished it in two years. She, on the other hand, cranked out a book a year."
"By far her best, according to Desi." He smiled. "Maybe you missed your calling." Speaking of his wife felt good and bad at the same time. Good, because like Alex, he loved talking about her. Bad, because reminding him of a future no longer possible spiked the loneliness and sorrow.
"Give yourself a break. I expect your mom wrote full time. You have to write around your work schedule."
"Not even doing that. I go upstairs and play free cell, check my email. Sometimes I surf the web." She lifted the teacup to her lips. "Tell your wife thanks. Maybe her praise will ignite a fire under my muse." She took a swallow.
Cole stared into space. No reason to tell her about Desi, but no reason not to either. Might help her to know he understood her loss, that she wasn't the only one grieving. "My wife passed away three months ago," he said, watching her reaction.
Alex blinked. "Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea."
A dull, empty ache gnawed at his insides.
"Do you mind my asking what happened?"
A moment passed. "Brain tumor." A cold fist squeezed his heart. "Blind-sided me. Still trying to wrap my head around it."
"Me, too. My parents, Taryn. Then and now."
Before he could think about stopping himself, he said, "We got ready for bed. Desi sat on the edge of the mattress, complaining of a headache she'd had all day that nothing over-the-counter seemed to help. She'd scheduled a doctor’s appointment for the next day. Without warning, she toppled over. I could barely feel her pulse." He closed his eyes, the memory carving his heart all over again. Opening them, he said, "I’m sorry. It still shakes me up."
"You don’t have to—"
Cole raised a hand. He needed to do this before it festered and ate him alive from the inside out. "I rode in the ambulance, holding her hand, talking, telling, no, demanding her not to leave me. Time seemed to stall on the way to the hospital though we arrived in twelve minutes."
He rose, needing to distance himself from the memory, if for only a few seconds. He moved to the cupboard for a glass, filling it with water from the refrigerator’s automatic dispenser. After the brief intermission, he continued, "The emergency doctors and nurses whisked her right away, working furiously to determine the cause of her condition. It'd been tough waiting, not knowing what went wrong, hoping, praying she’d live. Almost to the very end, I’d been optimistic. Until the brain scan." He shook his head. "Authorizing the doctors to take her off life support had to be the hardest thing I've ever done."
Alex’s eyes teared.
His insides cramped. "My in-laws opposed it. But Desi had been very clear about what she wanted. She had a living will and an organ donor card. There’s some comfort in knowing part of her saved lives." He shrugged. "I haven’t spoken to her folks since that day."
"It’s been three months. Surely they’ve forgiven you by now."
"I called last week." He sipped his water.
"What happened?"
"My father-in-law hung up on me." He didn’t want to think about it any more. "Are your brothers older or younger?"
Alex jumped on the question as if she understood his need. "Younger. Gino just turned twelve when Mom and Pop died. Greg, seventeen, and Matt nineteen. I obtained legal custody of Gino. He’s a senior at University of Michigan now."
"Good for him. And you. Taking on the job of parenting is commendable, especially since you weren't much more than a kid yourself."
"Twenty-one and fresh out of college."
"What about your other brothers?"
Alex played with the fork on her empty plate. "Matt, his wife, and two sons live in Massachusetts. We don’t talk much. Greg departed for Europe two years ago to find himself. It’s been six months since I’ve heard from him." She lifted sorrowful eyes to meet his. "I don’t know what happened to our family. We drifted apart. Gino’s all I have left."
They sat in silence for a dozen seconds.
"Why work when you could devote your time to writing?" Cole asked.
Alex’s face brightened. "I wanted to teach ever since kindergarten. Spent most of my spare time playing school. Later, I tackled my brothers, literally, and taught them their ABC’s and numbers. My parents didn’t mind. In fact, I think they felt relieved. I kept at the boys until I b
egan high school and vaulted into a social life. But I never lost my passion to teach."
Cole relaxed in the chair, stretching his legs out under the table. "How did you make the leap to counselor?"
Alex tightened her lips together before speaking. "After teaching for five years, I realized my students’ personal issues often ran interference with their education. I couldn’t be teacher and counselor so I traded in my chalk for a box of tissues. Here I am. Ta-dah." She threw her napkin in the air and caught it.
Cole smiled. "Ever think of quitting?"
Alex tossed a smile back, then sobered. "Can’t. I won't desert the kids. Not yet. Good people come and go, but the knock-offs seem to stick around. Our kids deserve better." She sighed. "I’ll get off my soap box now." Pausing, she smiled. "What about you? How’d you end up in law enforcement?"
"I met Sterling Haygood. Hell of a man and damn good detective. If I could be a quarter cup of the cop he is, I’d be a good one."
The conversation eventually segued to Taryn’s murder.
"I don’t know who would've wanted to kill her." Alex paused thoughtfully. "Bobbi seems to think Martindale’s guilty of something."
Water fountain gossip, that’s all he needed. "This Bobbi, she a friend of yours?"
"Yeah, so?"
"I don’t want her kicking up any dust."
"I’m sure she wouldn’t—"
"You don’t know that. If you hear anything, let me know." A light bulb in his head went on. Maybe Alex could . . . no way . . . but it might work. . . considering her close proximity to the kids, staff, and information. She’s resilient, highly motivated, and perceptive. Grant, you’ve got to be kidding. Ignoring Desi's warning, he continued pondering. He’d used moles before. Of course, they'd been guilty of misdemeanors or felonies, not to mention street-wise. Hell, she'd do it anyway, with or without his consent.
"You ready for a proposition?"
She leaned toward him, her emerald eyes bright.
"There'll be ground rules," he added.
"Yes, you can jump my bones." Alex laughed. "Thought you'd never ask."
Where the hell had that come from? Had he inadvertently sent the wrong message? Better set the record straight. "Baby, the only bones I’m interested in are the ones I have to pick with you."
He stood. Waltzing out of the room, he tossed over his shoulder, "I want you to be my mole."
CHAPTER 29
He thought I was serious? Alex's face grew hot. What had she been thinking? They certainly hadn't progressed to flirtation or sexual innuendo status. Had their intimate conversation effectuated too much familiarity? Taken aback by his reaction, she'd mentally left the room as she processed the exchange. And almost missed what he'd said on the way out. What was it? I want you to be my mole. Barreling back, its significance threw her off balance. She shook her head, rose, and carried their plates to the sink. What exactly did a mole do? Went underground. Dug up dirt. She nodded. Yeah, I can do that.
"Miss, I’m done," a voice from the laundry room called.
The locksmith's still here, but where’d Cole disappear to? Had he left without waiting for her answer?
"I need you to sign the work order," the locksmith called. "And eighty bucks."
"I’ll be right there." Alex headed to the bedroom for her checkbook.
The front door opened and closed.
Cole? When had she begun thinking of him as Cole? Must've been when he upgraded her to partner. Not partner. Mole. Partner signified equal.
She wrote out the check and ambled back to the foyer.
"Wait," Cole said. After ensuring each of the keys fit the new locks, he presented them to her.
She handed the check to the locksmith and saw him to the door.
Alex and Cole retraced their steps to the kitchen to finish clearing the table and start the dishes.
"Like I mentioned, ground rules. Are you ready?" Cole said, sounding less congested. He sent her an off-handed gesture. "You might want to write them down."
Huh? Had she imagined their squabble? Or did he easily forgive and forget? Another plus for Cole.
"Well?" he asked, scraping off a plate and rinsing it.
"What?"
"Are you going to jot down the ground rules?" He inserted the plate in the dishwasher.
"I have an excellent memory." Except when it comes to setting security alarms and changing locks.
"Ready?"
Alex nodded.
"One. Report anything you see or hear even if you don't think it’s important." He paused. "Two. Under no circumstances pursue on your own." He regarded her closely. "Three. Never withhold information no matter how trivial it may seem." Cole dropped a handful of silverware into the basket of the dishwasher. He turned to her and cupped her chin in his hand. "Understand?" His eyes boring into hers, he dropped his hand.
Alex nodded, drying off her wet face with the dishtowel.
"Four. Keep your cell phone on you at all times. Five. Check in daily. Any questions?"
Alex pouted. "That’s it? You only want me to be your eyes and ears?"
He lifted his scarred eyebrow. "It’s what a mole does. Don’t you watch TV?"
"I want to help take that monster down." She slammed her fist on the counter and rubbed the pain out of her hand.
"That’s my job. You keep your nose clean. Hear?"
"I guess." Well, she’d try.
He leaned over, his face level with hers. "I need your word you’ll stick to the program. Otherwise, deal’s off."
"It’s a two-way street," she said, staring into his eyes.
He straightened. "I make the ground rules. I don’t have to follow them."
"No tit for tat?"
"On a need to know basis."
"Fair enough. Deal!" Her hand disappeared inside his, sealing the agreement.
"Now tell me, did you get a look at that ghost?" he asked, plucking a pan from the sink and washing it.
"That would be a negative."
"Do you think he’s a Lincoln High student?"
"Jury’s still out." She accepted the pan from Cole and dried it. "Outsiders get in the building all the time. Can't place all the blame on security, kids let them in."
"Any doubt he’s your guy?"
She glared at him. "He’s not my guy. But yes, I’m certain it’s the same one."
"Is the clock on your stove correct?"
Alex nodded. Folding the dishtowel in half, she hung it on the handle of the stove.
"I had no idea it was so late. I gotta go."
She accompanied him to the front door.
"Sure you have all the ground rules straight?" He shrugged into his jacket.
She tapped her head.
"I still want you to keep your alarm activated when you’re home." He extended his hand. "Go fetch your cell phone."
Alex went to the bedroom and returned with the phone from her handbag.
Cole programmed in his number and handed it back. "Number nine."
"Thanks. I feel better," Alex fibbed. "For the record, that was a joke about the bones."
"I know. My allergies. Had some meds in the car."
They stared at each other.
Alex’s heart rocked.
"Hit me on my cell if anything happens. And be careful."
Alex leaned against the door after Cole left, thoughts of acting as his mole circling inside her head. I can’t wait for tomorrow. She pushed off the door and hastened to the bedroom to tap in the code on the keypad. A meow came from the laundry room. Alex went to free Sid, more precious than ever now. She needed him to sleep with her tonight. He had every right to refuse and, if he did, she wouldn't blame him one bit.
CHAPTER 30
Walking out into the clear night, Cole's nose plugged again. Damn cat hair. He brushed at his pants, but in vain. Settled in his Hummer, he reached for the nasal spray in the console. Don't. Remember what happened last year? He suffered for five miserable nights before breaking the addiction. Relie
f would come once he stripped off the hair-infested jeans. Unfortunately, he had to deliver the microwave downtown first. Earlier, the Canton uniforms had voiced no objection to turning the evidence over to him once he explained the connection between the break-in and his homicide.
While there, he might as well track down the Jada Davison file to determine which D answered the call the night she died. How many crimes related to Taryn's death now? He counted two, possibly three—an assault/theft, a break-in/animal cruelty, and a suspicious suicide. Though he had no solid evidence to support it, he believed the same guy that attacked Alex at Taryn’s had killed Sami. And may be responsible for Jada's death, too. With what kind of sick freak were they dealing? And what game was he playing?
Staring at Alex’s condo, he fired up the engine and shifted into gear. Nice place. Nice neighborhood. With its smorgasbord of people, Canton Township exemplified a miniature United Nations. So Alex came from money. That explained how she could afford the Cadillac Escalade and XLR Roadster he’d seen parked in the garage. What had possessed him tonight? Asking her to be his mole? Desi tried to warn him. Why hadn't he listened? Because you chose delegation over smart. Would he regret it? Only time would tell.
Zipping down the expressway, he thought back to earlier that evening. He’d visited the community center for the first time in several months. It felt good. A few new faces, but many familiar ones greeted him with a smile, handshake, and even a hug from shy little Ajani. McGerald River had been a no-show. No big surprise, but disappointing none the less. He didn’t know why it seemed so important. Maybe his concern over DeAngelo. If he got home in time, he'd give Jess a long overdue call.
When Cole arrived at the first precinct downtown, he encountered wall to wall people. No doubt due to the full moon. He elbowed his way through the bizarre collection of folks.
A paper thin and unkempt woman grabbed his arm. "They got my kid," she said, the alcohol on her breath overpowering.
Cole broke loose and steered her over to a less congested area. "Ma’am, who has your kid?"
"Don’t know, but they holding him prisoner." Her missing top front teeth caused the th to sound like f.