Screaming To Be Solved

by Lauren Hope

  She looked exasperated and exhausted. “Can you at least tell me who I’m in danger from or what this is all about?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m not even certain. When I am, you’ll know. I will fill you in later on some progress I’ve made, interesting news I’ve been able to get my hands on.”

  Her eyes darted back and forth and she put a hand to her temple. “More bad news?”

  “No. Don’t worry.” He reached across the counter, took the hand she held to her head, covered it with his and squeezed. “It’s going to help us. We’re getting closer, Marx. Just do as I ask. You do have clients coming here until your replacement arrives, right?”

  “Yes,” she glanced at her watch, “any minute.”

  “Perfect. Don’t go anywhere alone, especially inside your house. Don’t tell anyone but your family that you’re coming to my house. You’ll be safe there.”

  When she nodded absently, he took it that she understood. As much as he wanted to stay and comfort, he couldn’t. There were things he needed to do.

  “See you later,” he said and patted the counter as he turned to leave.

  “See you,” she called and picked up the phone as he walked out the door.

  NINETEEN

  Marxie paced around the big living room, wondering what could be taking Grant so long. He’d made it sound like he had a few errands to run, not hours worth of work. But it was getting late, the sun setting, its orange and yellow glow streaming through the grand old windows, resting on the beautiful architecture inside. She still couldn’t believe he lived here.

  Too restless to sit, she began to wander around the rooms, mentally decorating each as she went. She had to do something . . . her mind was too wrapped up in Evan, in what news Grant was bringing, to cozy up and wait for him to arrive. She couldn’t sit around anymore and dwell on things. This constant anxiety was slowly killing her. She’d lashed out at Grant yesterday, got frustrated with Ms. McDaniel in the store today and almost showed it—which she never did. She had to get control of the worry, had to know that it would all work out. She would find the answers. She and Evan would have their peace.

  And whoever had targeted her, had ruined her home, they would leave her alone once this was over. She had to believe that. Stick to it and believe it, and persevere, just like always.

  She sauntered down the right hall that branched off the dining room, humming to herself, running a finger over the textured cream walls, eyeing every small detail in the aged chandeliers. She stopped at the last door on the right. Grant’s room. It was the only place he’d neglected to show her in the tour. He’d gestured to it, said, “That’s my room,” and left it at that. She didn’t think he had anything to hide, he probably just didn’t think she’d find his room interesting.

  She would. She wanted to see it. Wanted to see what the master suite of this grand old home looked like. Since her house was in shambles, she could at least fantasize about living somewhere splendid. No harm in popping her head in, right?

  “Right,” she whispered to herself and turned the knob.

  She edged in the door, and stared, open-mouthed. It was fabulous. Total man, but great nonetheless. Chocolate browns, deep blue’s and khaki dominated the room. A generous bed cloaked in a rich brown comforter and its large chocolate suede headboard occupied much of the longest wall. She was surprised the bed had more than the two allotted pillows most men required; it was neatly made and adorned with khaki throws pillows. Impressive, she thought with a satisfied smile.

  The tray ceiling above the bed was quite a sight as well. It was painted a light khaki, like the walls, but was tiered in three different layers, perfect squares cinching in towards the next, each finished off with a thick ivory crown molding.

  She walked to a big oak dresser, distressed with flecks of darker wood peeking through, and paused by a picture. Grant relaxed against the door of a dark truck. He was young, in his teens probably. About sixteen, seventeen? A beautiful little girl was situated comfortably in his arms and she looked just like him. Big brown eyes, olive skin, dimpled smile. A beauty.

  Was this why he was single? Was this little girl his? She had to be, Marxie thought, she was identical to him, a tiny female version.

  “Hey.”

  Marxie jumped, dropping the photo with a clatter. Smoothing her hair quickly, she willed the embarrassment rising to her cheeks away and turned, with a hand on her heart, to face Grant.

  “You scared me. I was looking around . . . ” She fumbled with her hands as her words trailed off. “You weren’t here. ”

  “Yeah. Sorry, I was longer than I thought I’d be.” He nodded a quick smile and leaned against the doorway.

  “That’s okay.” And because he didn’t mention that he’d caught her smack dab in the middle of his bedroom, nor did he try to leave, she stayed planted where she was and worked to maintain her composure. “I was beginning to worry about you, though.”

  “A little dose of your own medicine, huh?” He laughed. “Now you know how it feels to be wondering about someone.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She waved a hand and rolled her eyes.

  “So, snooping in my room?”

  She snapped to attention. “What? No. I mean . . . ” Oh, she was so was caught. Might as well fess up. “Yes. I was snooping, happy?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Yes,” he smiled. “Honesty is always the best policy.” When she didn’t respond, he stepped forward, chuckled. “Hey, I don’t care for you lookin’ around.” He smiled, put a hand to her cheek and pushed her face up to meet his. “I did tell you to come here. After I was later than I thought, I kind of expected you to wander. Did you find anything interesting?”

  She looked into his eyes, ready to protest, but she saw a humorous gleam and knew he was goading her. “Jerk,” she said, and pursed her lips. “I love the house. You’re right about that. I still vote you need a decorator, pronto. And she’s beautiful,” she said, picking up the photo that lay facedown on the dresser, “looks just like you.”

  His smile faded and she wondered if she should ask any more questions, but he didn’t object, so she continued. “Do you see her often?”

  Pain washed over his face and now she wished she hadn’t asked. “No. I don’t,” he said softly.

  “Oh.”

  He took the photo from her hands, ran a finger over the small face of the girl. She felt for him, sympathetic to the hurt he so evidentially felt. How sad, maybe the mother kept the girl at arms length?

  Surprising her, he looked at her, asked, “Do you ever regret not having children? With Evan, I mean?”

  “No,” she said thoughtfully. “Of course I’d love to have a piece of him left here with me. But it wouldn’t have been right. We didn’t want it while he was alive. We were young. Had our whole lives ahead of us . . . or so we thought.” She leaned back against the sturdy dresser, and smiled softly, letting visions of the past leap into her mind. “We were in love and thought we had all the time in the world to make a baby. We would’ve had them eventually, but it was a mutual decision not to at the time. Part of me aches for it sometimes, the thought of a little boy or girl with his smile, those eyes, the spirit or sweet nature. But then I wonder how I’d manage raising the little person alone.” She shrugged. “How would I cope without his or her daddy here? I don’t think I’d do so well. In any case, God knew best . . . and I, or we, didn’t have one.”

  “Want to someday?”

  “I think so. If I can find the right person.”

  “Hmm.” He replaced the picture gently, turned to face her. “Need food or drink? Something before I bring you up-to-date?”

  She shook her head, guessing they were back to business.

  “Okay,” he nodded, gesturing for her to walk through the door before him. “Let’s go in the living room. I’ve got some paperwork in there.”

  He followed her into the great room, and as she was about to sit, he snapped his fingers abruptly, as if suddenly rememberi
ng something. “Oh yeah. Before we get started, um, while I was out earlier this morning, I found something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to show it to you.”

  “Okay . . .”

  He walked to her, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a long, velvet-covered box. Jewelry, she thought anxiously, he was getting her jewelry? Had she unknowingly led him on? Had her inner thoughts of his undeniable attractiveness and quiet ponderings on her growing comfort level with him somehow jumped into his head? Had it shown on her face?

  She smiled nervously while he fumbled to open the box. When he managed to pull open the top, she put a hand to her mouth, gasped with a small sound. A definite piece of jewelry gleamed in the large window’s fading light.

  “Grant?”

  “Uh, let me explain. It’s yours.”

  “Mine?” She put a finger to her chest, glanced at him briefly, then back down to the sparkling necklace. “I—I can’t. I mean, it’s beautiful. But I can’t. Why—”

  “Oh.” He breathed a nervous, humorous sigh. “You thought I was giving this to you. No. Oh, no. I mean, yes, I’m giving it to you, but it was already yours. See?” He lowered his head, peered at the shiny stone and it’s delicate chain. “The diamond in the middle, it’s yours. The one Evan gave you.”

  “What?” she stared at him now, completely taken aback.

  “Yeah, take a look.” He gently lifted the necklace from the box, held a petite diamond encased in a silver circle pendant in his palm. “This is where the diamond came from.” He dug in his pocket again, came up with a twisted piece of metal.

  Her heart soared. Could it be? How is this possible? “Grant is this what I think it is?” she breathed, took the thin circle from his large fingers, and with shaking hands tilted it in the light to read the inner inscription.

  And there it was. Marx, forever yours. E

  Oh God, she was going to cry. She felt it. Her heart swelled with it, her throat constricted with the emotion. She looked to Grant, tears glossing her vision. “The diamond in this necklace is from my ring?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded quickly. “I’m real sorry I couldn’t fix the ring. They said at the store the band was beyond repair. So I had it put in the necklace. That way, you can wear it everyday if you want. No choosing on anniversaries and birthdays, right?” He laughed a little.

  “No,” she shook her head, stunned, “no choosing.” She clutched the twisted gold in her hand, put it to her heart and breathed deep. Relief speared through her, touching her inner most parts, loosening muscles she hadn’t known were tensed. “Grant, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. To have this back. It may seem silly, a ring—”

  “No. It’s never silly. This is important to you. I understand that. Here,” he said, and transferred the necklace to her trembling hands.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She looked up into his deep brown eyes, sincere and kind. Comforting and very beautiful in the sunlight, like twin chocolate gems. He was so good to her. So thoughtful. He’d given her back something she thought she’d never see again. With her engagement band secure in one hand, her new diamond necklace in the other, she rose on her tiptoes, laced her arms around his sturdy neck. And bringing her face close to his, she whispered again, “Thank you.”

  He replied softy. “You’re welcome.”

  Instinct had her leaning forward, closer, closer. Then she pressed her lips to his. Skin, warm and rich and full met hers, perfectly matched her movements. She felt his arms come around her waist, wrap her tight and secure. She strengthened her grip around his neck. He lowered his head, finding an even better fit over her mouth. She smelled the day on him—summer heat, freshly mowed grass, and man.

  His strength warmed her, his gift and the charm of it engulfed her. Her heart rapped against her chest, her stomach tingled and her head felt light and airy. She thrust her tongue through her lips, licked his full bottom lip with lazy strokes. And when he parted them, she pushed her tongue through. He met her demands, touching and tasting as she did.

  She hadn’t felt this relaxed in . . . years. Two years. Evan. How can I be doing this to Evan?

  “Evan,” she murmured.

  “What?” Grant lifted his head, shook it as if clearing it.

  “You said you had news about Evan.” She dropped her arms, laced her hands together between their bodies. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” She fumbled and stepped back a full pace.

  “Okay,” he said, nodding. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s my fault.” She held her hands out, hoping he’d get the message to back away. She stepped further back herself, running into the couch as she did. She fell into it and sat gratefully. She wasn’t sure how much longer her wobbly legs were going to hold her.

  “Thank you for the necklace, Grant,” she said, when he remained standing, staring at her. “It truly is beautiful. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “No payment necessary,” he finally spoke again, brushing a hand over his mouth. “I think that was pretty good.” He smiled at her, but she couldn’t return one. Partly because her nerves hadn’t settled yet from that incredible mouth he kept running his fingers over, and partly because she was swarmed with guilt. How could she do this to Evan? It was betrayal of the worst kind. Distracting the man who was finding out the truth, getting Evan justice. Falling in another man’s arms when there were still unanswered questions about her husband’s murder. How could she let her intimate feelings for Grant get in the way of that? And when, in fact, did she begin to have intimate feelings for the man standing it front of her? Well, it hardly mattered. They were a mistake. And she shouldn’t be putting moves on a man who had taken her under his wing and was trying to help her.

  But he had responded. So maybe she wasn’t fully to blame.

  Because he hadn’t moved, she sank further into the couch, looked up to him cautiously. “I’m sorry about that, Grant. I don’t know what I was thinking. My mistake. I guess that shows what a nice piece of jewelry will do to a woman.” She tried a laugh, but it didn’t come out as convincing as she would’ve liked.

  And he didn’t join her. But he smiled a crooked grin, the one that made his dimple appear, and bent into the chair across from her, adding distractedly, “It’s okay.”

  She placed the necklace and ring beside her on a small table, rested her hands in her lap while trying to settle her still faintly tingling limbs. “I’m ready to talk about Evan. About what you found out . . . and how and where in the world you found this,” she gestured to the jewelry.

  He nodded once, rubbed his hands on his thighs. “It all goes together, so first things first.” He rose, went to a notebook laid on the coffee table and came to sit beside her on the couch. She was wary at first, not wanting them to be too close, but he seemed focused on the spiral book and what was in it. “I went to the jail today,” he said, looking up at her.

  “The jail?”

  “Yeah. I paid a visit to Chaz Henry.”

  “The Chaz Henry who killed Evan?” Her pulse jumped and she sat up straighter on the sofa.

  “He says he didn’t.”

  “Well of course,” she spouted, throwing a hand out, “he was strung out on cocaine. The police said he didn’t remember what he did, much less was able to fess up to it.”

  “Police can be wrong.”

  “Of course they can. But how would they on this? Chief Raines said Evan was undercover to bust a drug ring. So Chaz’s actions make even more sense now, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How is that maybe?” her voice rose as suspicion and confusion mounted inside her.

  “Because I got more outta Chaz. Asked questions I don’t think anyone else ever has.”

  “You got answers from the druggie? And I guess you see that as reliable?”

  He stared at her with cool eyes. “He’s not on drugs now, Marxie. He’s been in prison for two years.”

  “People can be on drugs in prison.” />
  He ran a hand over his hair, let out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But today, when I saw him, he was clean. And making sense. He told me things I’ve never heard or read in any of Evan’s files.”

  She stared at him, skeptical.

  Grant looked down at the notepad, looked back at her as she leaned toward him expectantly. “He says there was no car chase, Marxie.”

  “No!” She sprung up from the sofa, began pacing. “No. There was a chase. Evan was chasing Chaz. Chief Raines said so. Chaz ran after a routine stop blew Evan’s cover. Evan went after him. No, no,” she muttered to herself as she took quick strides over the old hardwood. This couldn’t be. If Evan hadn’t chased someone, brought down a member of the drug ring, what did he die for?

  Grant rose, dumped his notes on the coffee table. “Why is that so surprising for you? You questioned it yourself.”

  “Because there was a chase, Grant,” she screamed, rounding on him. “The chief and Beau both told me.”

  “Just because they say something doesn’t make it true, Marx. When did their word become God?”

  “They’re not God, I just trust them.”

  “And not me?” he slapped a hand to his chest. “I’m working to help you.”

  “Yes, you,” she spouted, suddenly angry with him for she didn’t know what. “But not some strung out kid.”

  “But he was telling the truth,” Grant barked.

  She stopped at his forcefulness, quieted so she could calm herself and consider his words. She took a deep breath. “Okay. What did he say that has you believing him so wholeheartedly?”

  Grant passed a hand across his forehead, looked at her with earnest eyes. “There wasn’t a car chase. Chaz set Evan’s car on fire, no question, but it was parked, already abandoned. The poor kid says he didn’t know anybody was in there, he just got the orders to do it. But that’s the thing, Marx, no one was in there. Evan was already dead or being dealt with somewhere else. The explosion was a cover up.”

  “A cover up for what?”