“I’m not stealing her,” Jay said. He held both hands up. “Really. I told her I’d give her a lift today because I wanted to find out if Sarah agreed to go to the party. I got Trish to ask her for me.”
“Oh.” Some of Archer’s anger seemed to dissipate. “Then how come you had your arm around her? And the other day after we’d been looking at her car, you two were all cozy in the doorway.”
“I haven’t been cozy with a woman in a long time,” Jay said, somewhat depressed by the reminder. “We were talking about you that day—I was trying to convince Trish that you weren’t always such a jerk.”
Archer scowled. “She didn’t need to be convinced of anything until you started hanging around her so much.”
“I’m not,” Jay said. “Today she was bawling her eyes out ’cause she thinks you two are on the verge of breaking up.”
“We are,” Arch said. He dropped the backpack on the floor and sat down on the opposite end of the couch.
“Because of a stupid package of meat?” Jay asked.
“It wasn’t stupid.”
“No. Just rancid.” Jay rolled his eyes. “Trish loves you—she didn’t feel right about feeding you deadly food. Get over it, or break up with her so she can have a chance with someone else.”
Archer turned toward him, anger flashing in his eyes again. “You are after her. I knew it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Jay rose from the sofa, dismissing him and the whole ridiculous conversation. “I’m going to bed. Don’t bother me unless the house is on fire.”
“Don’t worry,” Archer mumbled. “I won’t bother you then, either.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Daddy’s home!” Jeffrey galloped across the kitchen, his cowboy boots leaving scuffs on the old cream-colored linoleum Christa hated so much. But instead of scolding their oldest son, she shared his enthusiasm.
“Yippee,” she shouted, scooping up James, their three-and-a-half-year-old, and running toward the front door. “Daddy’s home, and he’s bringing pizza, and it’s his turn to give baths and tuck-ins.” Cause for celebration, indeed. This evening she’d finally have time to finish sewing their costumes for the Halloween party this Friday. And the boys wouldn’t be right beside her, unwinding the thread, stepping on the foot pedal when she wasn’t ready, or using her good scissors to cut paper—or each other’s hair.
Jeffrey took his place by the front door, lasso ready. James wiggled out of her grasp and straightened his cowboy hat. The front door opened, and Kirk walked in, weariness and worry plainly written on his face.
“Gotcha!” Jeffrey shouted as the rope he’d tossed looped its way over Kirk’s outstretched hand. Jeffrey tried to pull the rope tight, but he’d knotted it wrong, and the loop came undone. He stumbled back into the shoe basket beside the door.
James laughed. “Did it wrong. You did it wrong.”
“Don’t tease your brother,” Christa scolded.
Momentarily abandoning the cowboy act, Jeffrey reverted to his favorite ninja stance and kicked his foot up, sending a boot—spurs and all—sailing toward James’s head.
Kirk reached down and caught the boot easily before another bruise could be added to the trio James currently sported. Kirk looked at his oldest son. “Do you need to go to your room, Jeffrey?”
“No,” Jeffrey huffed. He grabbed for his boot.
Kirk held it out of reach. “Apologize.”
“He laughed at me,” Jeffrey said. “How come he doesn’t have to ’pologize?”
“He will.” Kirk closed the door behind him and knelt down. He set the boot on the carpet and reached his hands out to both of his sons. James came eagerly. Jeffrey folded his arms across his chest and scowled, though he allowed his dad to pull him close.
Christa felt a rush of tenderness as she looked down on her boys—all three of them.
“You boys are very lucky,” Kirk began, “to have each other to play with. I always wanted a brother—”
“But you just got sisters,” Jeffrey finished, coming out of his tantrum. “And now you have to share a room with Mommy.”
“Poor Daddy,” James said.
“Poor, poor Daddy.” Christa rolled her eyes.
Kirk winked at her. “Mommy’s different. She smells good.”
“Did your sisters stink?” Jeffrey asked, curiosity lighting his eyes as he looked intently at his father.
Kirk nodded. “Dreadfully. They each had these little bottles of pink perfume called Loves Baby Soft. And they put it on everything.”
“Like what?” Jeffrey wrinkled his nose.
“What?” James asked, not to be left out. He scrunched his face up, trying to imitate his brother.
“My pillow,” Kirk said. “My clothes. Even my—” He lowered his voice to a whisper and pulled the boys close. “Once they put it on my underwear.”
Jeffrey gasped as his hands went automatically to the seat of his pants.
“Underwear.” James giggled.
“Pizza?” Christa reminded them.
A look of panic flashed across Kirk’s face. He gave Christa an apologetic smile as he rose from the floor. “I forgot.”
“I called you an hour ago,” she said, trying not to sound irritated. Since Eddie Martin’s death two weeks ago, she knew things at the station had been stressful. It seemed like all of Kirk’s hard work over the past six months was unraveling before his eyes. The supplier he’d been close to finding remained as elusive as ever, and all of Eddie’s files were frozen, pending further investigation into his death. She knew Kirk didn’t need extra stress at home, but the boys needed their dad, and she needed her husband.
“But it’s no problem,” she forced herself to say. “Why don’t you play with the boys for a while, and I’ll run out and grab one.”
“Sure.” Kirk didn’t look very enthused as the boys each grabbed one of his hands.
“Come on, Dad. You be Cowboy Dan. I’m Johnny Silver.” Jeffrey stopped to reach down and grab his boot. He held it up high, clinking the spurs.
“I’m Applejack,” James said.
“No. That’s cereal,” Jeffrey said. “You’re Flapjack.”
“Which is a pancake.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Kirk’s mouth. “Either way, you’re something yummy to eat! Mmm.” He growled as he picked up James and threw him over his shoulder. “Who needs pizza when we’ve got an apple flapjack?”
“Dad-dy,” James giggled.
“Flapjack is a cowboy.” Jeffrey jumped up, trying to free his brother, and landed, stomping his boot across his dad’s toe.
Kirk winced. “Have they been watching Howdy Town? I thought we hid—”
“Grandma sent another one!” Jeffrey exclaimed. “’Cause I told her on the phone that we lost the first one.”
“Another one,” James echoed.
“Remind me to thank Grandma,” Kirk said without sincerity as he helped James slide to the floor.
“We got stars in the package too.” Jeffrey stuck out his chest, showing off the shiny metal badge pinned to his homemade cowboy vest.
“Me too,” James said.
“We’re sheriffs like you,” Jeffrey said. “Now we just need guns. But Mom still says no.”
“Mom is right,” Kirk agreed. “Guns are dangerous. They’re not something you ever play with.” He disentangled himself from the boys and went to the bedroom to safely store his own weapon.
Christa started to follow him, to retrieve her purse and shoes. “Boys, you can each have half of a Go-Gurt from the Ziploc bag in the freezer. Eat it at the table, though.”
“Yippee—Go-Gurt!” Jeffrey galloped across the room on his imaginary horse. James tried to follow, but his boots were even bigger than Jeffrey’s, and he tripped on the carpet twice. Christa reached over and picked him up the second time, tousling his hair. “Careful there, pardner.”
He shrugged off her affection and followed his brother to the kitchen. Christa decided she’d use the few free minut
es to talk to Kirk. She went to their room and sat beside him on the bed.
“Are you still up for Dad duty tonight so I can finish the costumes?”
He turned to her. “I am. I haven’t forgotten. And I remembered the pizza until the last minute. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll go get one. Maybe I can strike up a conversation with the cashier to help fill my quota for adult conversation today. I’ve had about all I can take of talking ponies and roundups. Jeffrey lassoed the vacuum when I had it open to empty the canister. Dirt and hair and everything else—all over the floor. Those boys wear me out.”
“I’ll bet.” Kirk put his arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a good mom. Our boys are lucky.”
“You’re a good dad, too.”
“I try.” Kirk sighed. “Today I witnessed some of the worst parenting I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh?” Christa went to the closet and grabbed the closest pair of sneakers. “You get called out on a domestic case?”
Kirk shook his head. “That’s the sad thing. It wasn’t a case at all. Happened right in the office.”
“What happened?” Christa returned to the bed and began untying the laces.
“Chief Morgan’s daughter came to the station—first time I’ve seen her.” Kirk removed his holster and set it aside. “Chief and I were meeting in his office, going over the evidence for the Rossi trial, and his daughter came in all upset.”
Christa finished tying her first shoe and moved on to the second. “And . . .” she prompted.
“It sounded really serious, so I got up quickly, left my folders and everything on the floor, and went out so they could have some privacy. A couple of minutes later she left, looking worse than when she came in.”
“How does that make him a bad father?” Christa asked.
“It doesn’t—didn’t,” Kirk clarified. “To be honest, I didn’t think anything of it. I imagine a lot of girls get upset with their dads. The chief called me back in his office, we wrapped up our meeting, and I packed up my stuff to come home. As I was driving, I thought I’d replay the tape of our meeting, so I could go over the list of things the defense attorney is likely to bring up.” Kirk paused, a serious look on his face. “I rewound the tape—but not far enough—and discovered I’d left it on when his daughter was there. It recorded their conversation.”
“You didn’t listen to it, did you?” Christa asked, clearly appalled.
“I didn’t plan to,” Kirk said, “but it was already running, and I couldn’t quite believe what the chief said. So I replayed it and listened again.”
“Twice? You played it on purpose a second time? Kirk, I’m—”
“I’d like you to listen to it,” Kirk said quietly.
“Isn’t that wrong? A breach of privacy or—”
“Just listen,” Kirk urged. “And tell me if I’ve misunderstood or something.” He pulled the tape recorder from his pocket and hit play.
Christa frowned as she sat on the edge of the bed and listened to Chief Morgan’s daughter describe almost being hit by a car—on purpose, it sounded like. Christa gasped at the chief’s cruel response. She felt her mouth open with shock at the cold description he gave of the role his daughter played in his life.
“I can’t believe that,” she said, outrage in her voice. She looked up at Kirk. “It’s—it’s awful. No wonder you had to listen twice. Of all the heartless—”
“I know,” Kirk said. “And the thing that really bothers me is that she was reporting a crime. It sounds like she’s in danger, and he’s just blowing her off.”
“And breaking her heart,” Christa added, feeling a pang of sympathy for the young woman she’d never met.
“I’ve heard a lot of weird rumors about the chief since I started,” Kirk said. “And I’ve observed some unusual behavior myself—some days he’s really on top of things, and I feel we’re making progress. Other times it almost seems he’s thwarting our best efforts. But I really don’t know what to make of this—or what I should do.”
“What can you do?” Christa asked. “I mean, could he fire you for taping him like that?”
Kirk shrugged. “I don’t know. And I’m not planning to find out, though the officer in me feels like I ought to do something to help his daughter. She reported a crime—sought help and protection—and she got neither. I think maybe I’ll call the campus police and see if anything is being done from that end. It’s really worrying me.”
“I can see that.” Christa scooted closer, wrapping her arm around her husband. “It’s your superman syndrome rearing its head again.” She leaned against his shoulder, thinking of all the times Kirk went above and beyond to help those in need—be they family, ward members, coworkers, or complete strangers. At times she wondered if she’d just married an exceptionally good guy, or if he secretly harbored a desire to save the world, one person at a time.
“Maybe you’re right,” Kirk agreed. “But this time I can’t help but feel that Chief Morgan’s daughter is one person who could really use a hero.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kirk left the courtroom and walked down the hall of the Middlesex County courthouse. He stopped to get a drink from the closest fountain, and his phone started ringing just as the cool water reached his lips. Stepping back, he pulled his cell out and saw that it was Christa. He exhaled, feeling a little of the stress leave his body.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m just leaving now—running a few minutes late—but I haven’t forgotten I need to stop at the store. Knee-high pantyhose for your costume and a carton of ice cream for the babysitter and the boys,” he said, reciting the instructions she’d given him earlier.
“Never mind stopping.” Christa sighed into the phone. “Challise just called. She has strep. We’re out of luck for a babysitter for the party tonight.”
“What about her little sister?”
“That’s who she caught strep from,” Christa said. “And I’ve already tried the other two girls in the ward that I trust. They’re both going to the Halloween dance at their school. So unless you can pull a babysitter out of your back pocket . . .”
Kirk frowned. “You want me to ask Detective Brandt?”
Christa snorted. “Hardly. I hate to think what the boys would learn—and eat—if they spent an hour in his company. I guess we’re sunk.” She paused. “How was your day? How’d the trial go?”
It was Kirk’s turn to sigh. “‘Not guilty’ on four out of the five trafficking charges. Minimum sentence on the last.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not the verdict I was hoping for.”
“Not guilty—how can that be?” Christa asked, her astonishment carrying through the phone lines. “You guys had photos and witnesses and—”
“His attorney knew all the loopholes. Made sure the photos were inadmissible and did a great job discrediting the witnesses. I should have known something was up when he wasn’t even interested in the plea.”
Kirk looked down the hall where Steve Nicholsine, of the Holt and Nicholsine law firm, was just leaving the courtroom. For a split second he looked at Kirk, and their eyes met, challenging each other. You got him off this time, Kirk thought. But we’re not finished with this. Sooner or later, he’s gonna screw up again.
Nicholsine broke their gaze and walked in the opposite direction.
“Kirk?” Christa asked. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Um. Yeah,” he answered absently. “We should take the boys to that corn maze tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” Christa said. “What I suggested is that you pick up a movie on your way home. I would’ve liked to go out, but I guess renting a DVD will have to do.”
“Okay.” Kirk resisted the urge to turn around and watch the attorney until he left the building.
“Why don’t you get some really romantic chick flick?” Christa said.
“Sure.” Bet he drives a BMW or something—funded by the criminal wealth of his clientele.
“
Maybe a period piece set in England.”
“Okay.”
“Now I know you’re not listening,” Christa accused, but there was concern in her voice. “Kirk, are you okay?”
“Fine.” He realized he was still standing in the same spot and staring at the courtroom door. “Just distracted. Sorry. We can get whatever you want.” He started walking down the hall and forced his attention back to Christa and the weekend with his family.
“No thanks,” Christa said. “You’d be a million miles away for sure. On second thought, I think you’d better just come home. I’ll put the boys to bed early and we’ll talk.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, but maybe we could think of something else to get my mind off work . . . I’ll get ice cream for us instead, all right?”
“With nuts?”
“Loads of them.” He smiled. “And some quadruple-bypass chocolate flavor.”
“I’ll get the boys in their pajamas right now.”
“See you in about twenty minutes,” Kirk said. He left the building and walked to his car, trying to forget about the case and the reality that J.D. Rossi was not going to be behind bars for long—if at all. Not only had he gotten off easy, but the Summerfield PD had missed another opportunity to get closer to busting up the local meth market.
First Eddie’s death, and now this. For the moment, the police had nowhere else to turn.
If we could just get to their distributor, Kirk thought. Chances were Eddie Martin and J.D. Rossi had the same supplier, and given the increasing volume of meth on the streets, it was likely an East Coast source. Chances were also good that if things continued as they were, the Boston/Cambridge area was soon going to rival some of the West Coast cities for methamphetamine use. It was a chilling thought.
Kirk climbed in his cruiser and started the engine. He drove up Thorndike Street, watching pedestrians out of the corner of his eye. He doubted he’d see Nicholsine again—probably a good thing, as he wasn’t feeling too charitable toward the man.
How do people like that sleep at night? Kirk wondered. Don’t they have any conscience? Don’t they worry that the guys they get off may harm someone else, or sell drugs to their own kids?
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