by Joyce Lamb
“This thing has air bags, doesn’t it?”
“You need the seat belt.”
“Fine, if you’re that bad a driver, be my guest.”
He suppressed his smile and snapped the safety restraint together quickly, careful to try not to touch her. Even so, his hand brushed her arm, and he felt the tremors. Her shakiness unsettled him, and he searched for something to say to fire her up.
He started the SUV. “You’re kind of a baby, aren’t you, Chase?”
She expelled a breath. “If you’re lucky, A.J. will show before my diaper needs changing.”
He chuckled. As long as she kept her sense of humor, she was fine. “So do you want to get your prescriptions filled before I take you home or shall I pick them up after?”
She gave him a surprised look. “I’m sure A.J. won’t mind taking care of them later.”
“We don’t know how long she’s going to be. She might have gone out of town.”
“I have other friends—”
“Plus, who knows when the pain medication will wear off? You don’t want to be left without that.”
“My pain threshold cruises at thirty thousand feet,” she said.
“Yeah, and you’ve never been stabbed before, so you have no idea what kind of pain we’re talking about.”
“Hello? I wasn’t drugged up when the SOB sliced into me, remember?”
“Trust me, when the medication wears off, you’re going to be begging for more.”
“You fancy yourself quite the expert. When was the last time you were stabbed?”
“I wasn’t. I was shot.”
“By a gun?”
He glanced sideways at her and rolled his eyes as if to say, Duh. “So am I turning right or left here?”
“Right.”
He made the turn onto Royal Palm Boulevard, where lunchtime traffic clogged all four lanes in both directions. Fantastic.
“That must have been rough,” she said.
“Just leave it alone.”
“You’re not allowed to bring up something like that and then clam up. It’s against the rules.”
He gave her a bemused smile. “What rules?”
“The rules of the city. You obviously didn’t read the bylaws included with your Welcome Wagon basket of freebies when you moved back here.”
“Well, I’m going to have to write a letter to whoever’s in charge of the Welcome Wagon, ‘cause I never got any basket of freebies.”
“That’s too bad. I would think a man like you would have especially enjoyed the toys from the Pleasure Palace.”
He laughed and let his shoulders relax. “Definitely.”
“Seriously.”
He crept to a stop for a red light and glanced at her. He’d never looked into her eyes, had never noticed how green they were. The genuine sympathy in them unnerved, him. “You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s supposed to be drugged out of her head.”
“I’m like this when I’m drunk, too. Drugs and alcohol make me all loopy.”
“That’s good to know since I was planning to ask you to paint the town red with me this weekend. Now I know better.”
She giggled, and he laughed at how trashed she was. Thank God, she wasn’t one of those people who got weepy on drugs.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Paint the town red. Do people even say that anymore?”
“Actually, the expression has been updated. Now, it’s ‘paint the town neon orange.’ Which way is your place?”
“Right on Avalon, left on Cooter Bay.”
His lips quirked. “Cooter Bay. For real?”
“Developer had a thing for Louisiana.”
Ten minutes later, he pulled into a parking space in front of her building. He took in the beige stucco that looked freshly painted, forest green front doors and long, narrow balconies with matching green railings. Shrubs that sprouted bright pink flowers lined the strip of grass between the pavement of the parking lot and the patios of the first-floor apartments.
“Thanks for the ride.” Bailey opened her car door.
“Hold on a minute.” Cole bounded out of the SUV and hurried around to her side.
“You don’t have to see me up,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“At least let me help you get settled.”
“No, really. You can go.”
“What’s the big deal? Did you leave underwear on the living room floor?”
“Actually, no. My underwear usually dangles from the ceiling fan.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m just sure you have other things to do.”
“Well, I don’t. Once you got stabbed, I cleared my schedule.”
“I’m flattered, really, but—”
“I’m afraid the drugs have made you especially slow today, Chase. I’m coming up with you, end of discussion.”
She clenched her jaw and avoided his gaze. “Fine.”
It was slow-going up the concrete steps, but Cole stayed a step behind her, ready to leap into action if she wobbled. The position offered him a close-up view of her backside, and he forced himself to keep his gaze at an appropriate level. No need to go there. Daniel had warned him.
In front of her apartment door, he held out his hand. “Keys?” He was impressed that she hadn’t had to stop on the way up to catch her breath. The woman was tough.
She stared at him in slow comprehension. “They’re in the camera bag.” She looked back down the steps as if they were Mount Everest.
“How about maintenance? Can they let you in?”
She nodded, reaching out to brace a hand on the door. “Just let me rest a minute.”
But then the door to her apartment swung inward, and Cole had to move fast to keep her from toppling in. As he held her against him, he got a glimpse into her living room. It had been ransacked. “Uh …”
She clung to his arms. “Oh my God.”
Taking charge, he eased her down against the door. Her complexion had gone chalky, and his stomach twisted as he felt her trembling intensify. “Hey.”
She continued to stare in bewildered silence at her wrecked apartment.
“Chase.”
She didn’t even flinch.
“Bailey,” he said more firmly.
Her gaze shifted to his face, but she seemed too stunned to speak.
He gave her a reassuring smile as he worked his phone out of his pocket. “You okay?”
She blinked. “Fine.”
“I’m calling the police.”
“Okay.”
He would have preferred to get her away from the apartment in case the intruder was still inside. But watching her lean her head against the door as if she didn’t have the strength to hold it up, he knew he would have to carry her back down the steps, something that would irk the crap out of her. When he saw tears well into her eyes, he repositioned himself so that he stood between her and the destruction.
Turning his head, he scanned what had been her living room while waiting for the 911 operator to answer. Two 911 calls in one day. A record for him.
Books, picture frames and the cushions of a red sofa and matching chair had been scattered. Bits of colored glass glittered among the red, blue and yellow plastic remains of what might have been Legos. A ficus tree had been tipped, dirt spilling out of its bright yellow ceramic pot onto what looked like new gray carpet. He imagined that before the destruction, it had been a nice apartment.
Glancing down at Bailey, he saw the tears clinging to her lashes, and his insides twisted. Crouching before her, he grasped her hand and squeezed.
This sudden protectiveness toward her disconcerted him, but he reminded himself that he had a soft spot for wounded people.
With her, he was sure he’d get over it.
Chapter 6
James Chase sat on a wooden bench at the halfway point on the Naples Pier and stared at the cloudless blue sky, listening to the rhythmic splash of the water as it lapped at t
he pilings. Where the sky met the horizon, the sand looked as white as snow, the trees a healthy, vibrant green. He’d come here so he could think, hoping the gentle, salty wind would clear his head.
A toddler, his cheeks pink from the sun, ran by, his pudgy legs pumping like mad in an effort to outrun his laughing mother close behind. She scooped him up and made a wet, smacking sound against his neck while he squealed with glee.
James wondered what Austin had been like as a toddler. He imagined that over the years Bailey had made hundreds of such kissy sounds against his son’s neck that made him shriek with delight. James tried to recall what his son’s neck had smelled like as a baby, how soft it had felt. But all he remembered was hating that Austin’s earliest memories would be of his father dressed in a blue prison jumpsuit.
Turning his head away from the happy tourists, he squinted into the sun. A year ago, he’d walked out of jail into bright Florida sunshine just like this. He’d struggled for a full twelve months, adjusting to his new life, determined to do everything right this time. A week ago, his life had been looking up. He’d found the perfect job. He was going to go to school to learn a trade. He was becoming a good father.
Now, not only had he gone and lost his damn job before he’d even started it, he had Payne Kincaid breathing down his neck. Yes, James had screwed up. Royally. He’d botched a deal for the man, cost him a customer. Fifteen grand and one client didn’t amount to much in the Kincaid scheme of things, but there was always the principle of the matter. Employees who f-ed up paid for it. But James knew Kincaid was torn about how to deal with him.
Kincaid the businessman was ruthless, calculating, merciless. When people let him down, they paid.
Kincaid the family man was supportive, compassionate, kind. When people he cared about needed him, he was there.
With James, the two vastly different sides of Kincaid had become one. James—and perhaps Kincaid himself—didn’t know which set of rules applied anymore. The family rules called for forgiveness and support. The work rules dictated either his own death or the pain and suffering of someone close to him. Since James wasn’t laid out on a marble slab at the morgue right now …
No. No way.
James was sure … no, he was positive that Kincaid wouldn’t hurt Bailey or Austin. The man had adopted them as his own. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt them.
But that didn’t loosen the tight, aching knot in his gut. If Bailey and Austin weren’t targets, that left James. Kincaid might not have the heart to kill him or have him killed, but he would make him suffer. Somehow.
James bounced a fist off the steering wheel.
Damn it, he should have known it would fall apart, should have seen it coming. Life had been improving, and that could mean only one thing: It was going to explode in his face.
Chapter 7
On the sofa, a hand pressed gingerly to the ache in her side, Bailey tried to survey the damage with detached emotion. The police were in the next room finishing up. They’d already questioned her and ordered her not to touch anything.
Seeing her possessions, material and personal, strewn carelessly about the room, some of them shattered, some of them covered with black, fingerprinting dust, broke her heart. She had already determined that only her MacBook was gone. The burglar had left her TV, microwave and iPod, though all had been viciously destroyed.
The destruction of her photos was the worst, though. On the floor just a few feet away lay the picture she’d taken at age twelve featuring four generations of Chase women—herself, her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother—all smiling and alive. She’d painstakingly set the shot up, positioning everyone just so. She’d set the timer on her first camera, her dad’s old Nikon, hit the button, then moved like mad to get into place between her laughing mother and grandmother before the flash went off. Good times.
Now, replacing the torn and scratched photo would be impossible. Filing away negatives of important photos hadn’t occurred to her until well after the negative for that one had been tossed in a drawer and forgotten. And she’d never gotten around to scanning a digital copy.
Emotion closed her throat. She was the only one from that photo still living, and now it was ruined.
A glittering smudge of glass on the wall drew her attention, and she glanced down at the baseboard to see the red, purple and pink bits of glass from the vase her father had brought back for her from Venice the year before the accident.
Before she could choke up further, she shifted her gaze and saw among the ruins a photo of Austin balanced precariously on his first bike. She’d snapped it despite the scrapes that had marred the then-three-year-old’s face from a tumble down the concrete steps in front of her apartment building. She’d told James that he’d have to get used to his kid having a messed-up face. He had Chase genes, after all, and that meant he was destined to be a klutz. Now, his photographed face looked as if someone had ground shards of glass into it.
Those shards had probably come from what was left of the swan her grandmother had given her when she was ten. Its glass was clear, the way things had seemed then, uncomplicated. All of her family had been together, one loving unit. Now, like her family, the swan was broken into pieces that could never be glued back together.
“Hey.”
Bailey turned her head to see Cole squatting beside her. “Hey,” she said, unable to muster a smile. She was so tired.
“How’re you doing?” he asked.
“Never been better.”
“The cops said they’re done here, so we can go.”
“Go where?” Alarm shot through her when her voice cracked. But she couldn’t help it. Much of the contents of her home had been destroyed. Her stitched side was screaming. And the police seemed to have no clue who would trash her home or whether the destruction might be linked to her mugging. Nothing made sense. Nothing.
“I’ll take you to my place,” Cole said.
She hesitated, wishing she’d hear from A.J. She could have let go with her best friend, could have bawled her eyes out and been as wretched and slobbery as she wanted. But A.J. had yet to return her call, so she obviously had something important going on.
“Can I pack a bag or is it considered a crime scene?” Bailey was proud of the steadiness in her voice.
“Let me check with the police.” He picked his way across the rubble, and Bailey watched him step over the remains of the Lego windmill Austin had made for her just last year. Many of its red, blue and yellow bricks looked as if a carelessly planted foot had crushed them.
Tears welled into her aching eyes, and she looked away to see Cole returning. He was smiling, though it wasn’t a full-wattage, happy smile. More of a sad, you’re-super-pitiful-and-I’m-terrified-you’re-going-to-sob-all-over-me smile.
“They’ve gathered all the evidence they need, so you can take whatever.”
She pushed up slowly off the sofa, relieved when he grasped her arm for support and not caring that she’d let a small moan of pain escape. She figured there was probably no way in hell she was going to make it through this day without disgracing herself in front of him. Considering all that had happened, maybe it was foolish to even worry about it.
She let him guide her through the debris to the bedroom door, where sudden visions of her undies scattered about the room made her hesitate.
“What?” Cole asked.
Oh, hell, she thought. What difference did it make? “Nothing.”
Sure enough, every piece of clothing from her dresser had been tossed onto the floor and strewn over the orange comforter on her bed. Bras, underwear, nighties, slips, T-shirts. And, oh God, the hot red negligee that her ex had bought her as a joke lay on top of the mess on the bed. It reminded her of happier times, when she had let herself fall in love without hesitation, blissfully unaware of what a careless man could do to a vulnerable heart. Squaring her shoulders, she resisted the urge to check Cole’s expression.
“Cool ceiling,” he said.
She glanced up at the fluffy clouds that the former tenant, an artist, had painted against a sky blue background. The landlord had offered to cover it with white, but she’d found it refreshing. She wouldn’t mind taking a nap under those clouds right now.
But she had to figure out how to get the soft duffle out from under her bed when her knees already trembled. If she got down on them, she feared she wouldn’t have the strength or coordination to get back up.
“Um, there’s an overnight bag under the bed. Do you think you could—”
Cole dropped to his knees and braced on his hands to peer under her bed. “I don’t see it.” Popping back up, he scanned the room. “Is that it?” He gestured at a navy nylon sports bag in the corner.
“Yeah, that’s it.” That the burglar, or burglars, or whoever they were, had rooted around under her bed puzzled her. She couldn’t imagine what they had hoped to find. No one she knew kept valuables under the bed. Under the mattress, sure, but not under the bed.
“Do you need some help?” Cole asked.
His voice tugged her attention back to him, and even though his tone hadn’t sounded the least bit impatient, she felt a surge of irritation. She took the sports duffle from him. “I bet that when you stop to help little old ladies cross the street, you fuss at them for being too slow.”
His grin made his blue eyes sparkle. “So you think I’d stop to help little old ladies cross the street? You have a much higher opinion of me than I thought.”
Rolling her eyes, she began digging through the pile of clothing on the bed.
“Want me to hold that for you?” He extended a hand to take the bag back.
“Hold this, too.” She slapped the sexy negligee into his waiting hand and went on picking out what she’d need. When she faced him, a few days’ worth of bras, panties and T-shirts clutched to her chest as discreetly as possible, she found him waiting with the bag spread open for her deposit. Dropping the clothing in, she saw the red lingerie settled at the bottom of the bag.
Her laugh ended on a choked sob, and she covered her mouth to stop the one that tried to follow.
Cole’s mischievous expression fled as he set down the bag and reached for her. “Hey.”