by Liz Johnson
His grin returned full-force. “Good. I’ll pick up my stuff tonight.” Pulling out a little notebook from his pocket, he asked, “So where do you think we should start?”
Without even a thought about what he was asking, she said, “Kit’s office.”
His forehead wrinkled, and his dark eyebrows pulled together. “What about the wreckage from the crash? There isn’t someone responsible if it was an accident. Shouldn’t we start there, to confirm that the cyclic controls were actually tampered with?”
“If it was an accident, then why is someone trying to take me out of the picture?”
He pursed his lips. “Valid point. But are we certain that it’s not related to a past case of yours?”
“It’s not. I just know it. Kit said to follow the drugs.” Heather swallowed loudly.
“But if we wait to investigate the wreckage, evidence may disappear.”
She hated that he made sense. Why did he have to be good at his job and so frustrating at the same time?
“What if we have to know what Kit knew to make any sense of the crash or the rest of the investigation? Shouldn’t we start there?”
He stared straight at her injured leg for several long seconds, pressing his fingers together, making a triangle with his thumbs. “Fine. We’ll start with Kit’s office in the morning. But then we’re immediately going to check out the chopper.”
She nodded. “Good.”
Suddenly her front door vibrated under the force of three solid thumps.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
She shook her head, her heart already in her throat.
Jeremy jumped, reaching under his jacket and adjusting his shoulder holster. Just as he reached the door, Heather chuckled.
“I just realized that assassins don’t usually knock.”
He laughed, too, as he peered through the peephole. She had a good point. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. A man with dark hair stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of black slacks. “Can I help you?” Jeremy asked after cracking the door open.
“Who are you?” the other man demanded, leaning in toward the door and trying to push past Jeremy’s firm stance.
He couldn’t help the scowl that followed the man’s rudeness. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m Clay Kramer.” The man’s eyes turned to slits, his gaze never wavering. “Where is Heather? If you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”
“Clay, it’s okay!” Heather yelled from the couch. “Jeremy, let him in.”
A quick glance over his shoulder proved that Heather was indeed as exasperated as her voice sounded. Reluctantly Jeremy stepped back; Kramer just a blur as he ran into the room and straight for Heather. Kramer’s suit wrinkled as he knelt before the suddenly teary-eyed Heather, who wrapped her arms around the intruder and tucked her face into his neck.
Why hadn’t she told Jeremy that she had a boyfriend? It seemed like it should have come up in their discussion about his staying on her couch.
A jealous boyfriend was exactly what he didn’t need to get this case solved. He’d be slowed down, and Heather would inevitably be distracted. And those were absolutely the only reasons why he felt something drop in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Heather nestling so naturally in another man’s arms.
He shook his head and swallowed the growl that threatened low in his throat. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he strolled back to the chair he’d just vacated as the reunion embrace finally ended.
Kramer pulled back, Heather’s hands cupping his cheeks, holding him close. “I am so sorry. I tried to save her.”
“I know you did, sweetie.” His hand ran over the top of her blond waves.
Please don’t let them kiss.
Jeremy wasn’t sure he could handle it just then.
Seeing couples in love always reminded him of the woman he’d planned to share his life with. Of course, it had been awhile since he’d shared a kiss with her, but the memory of Reena’s touch was like a punch to the gut. Fighting the urge to wallow in the misery of her memory, he turned his attention back to the lovebirds.
Except…they weren’t kissing. They weren’t even touching anymore. And instead of happiness on her face, Heather just looked sad. Sadder than before Kramer’s arrival.
As Jeremy studied the planes of her face, she glanced up, surprise lighting her eyes. Had she forgotten he was even there?
“Oh! Jeremy.” Kramer turned toward him at her outburst. “I’m sorry. This is Clay.”
“We’ve met.”
A half smile danced across her face. “Of course. Clay is… I mean, he was…”
Clay offered Heather a pat on her shoulder before finishing her sentence. “Heather’s sister and I were engaged. The wedding was set for next month.”
Too many times to remember Jeremy had been on the giving end of bad news because of his job. He’d received his fair share of it, too. But he still never knew how to respond. I’m sorry seemed trite. I’m sure it will get easier diminished the family’s pain. Not saying anything at all was cold.
And he wanted to be anything but cold toward Heather, as pain filled every feature of her face. Tiny wrinkles at the corner of her mouth appeared as she swallowed quickly. Young eyes suddenly looked far too old, and as her fingers moved to brush at her eyelashes, they shook.
Had he been wrong to agree to let her work the case with him? Could she handle the day-to-day strain of the investigation?
Still unsure what to say, he remained mute.
In the end Heather saved him from having to say anything at all, clearing her throat to fill the silence. With a quick blink and audible swallow, she composed herself. “Clay, I’m sorry I wasn’t at the funeral.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“It’s just that the doctors didn’t know when I would be out of the hospital. And my dad had to leave. And they didn’t even tell me about it until afterward. And…”
Kramer put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing his thumb into the soft fabric of her sweater. “I get it. Kit would have, too.”
Heather opened her mouth to say something, but a light knock on the door interrupted whatever was on her mind.
Jeremy strode to the door, peering again through the hole. This time a pretty blonde woman stood on the other side. He opened it wider than he had for Kramer and smiled at her obvious surprise.
“Oh! I’m Nora. I’m looking for Heather.” Her gaze flitted around the door frame as though trying to confirm that she was indeed at the right house.
“She’s right inside.” He nodded over his shoulder and stepped back to let her enter.
“I guess you already have a full house,” Nora chirped, as she strolled across the room. Lifting the casserole dish in her hands, she smiled. “I just thought I’d bring you a lasagna. It’s all ready to go. Just bake it.”
Heather managed a pained grimace toward her friend, who returned from putting the meal in the refrigerator, clearly curious about the two men as she looked back and forth between them.
Heather made quick introductions, her voice wavering only slightly when she introduced Clay. Nora’s face lost all color, then red spots appeared on the apples of her cheeks as she shook Clay’s hand in both of hers. “Yes, of course. We didn’t have a chance to meet at the funeral. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said.
Jeremy stayed near the door, unsure how he fit into the little group at the couch. At once fiercely protective of his new partner, and also just an outsider with no attachment to Kit. His interest was purely in terms of solving the case.
After a few minutes of quiet conversation, Nora took her leave. She squeezed Heather in a tight hug, and stepped toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Heather shook her head quickly. “There’s no need for you stop by every day. I’m doing fine.”
“But I don’t mind, really. I want to help out.”
Clay rested his hand on Heather’s shoulder. “She won’t be al
one. I’ll be here as much as she needs me.”
Jeremy stepped forward to stake his own claim to her time, but paused at the nearly imperceptible raise of Heather’s eyebrows. He stopped and shrugged to let her know he understood. But he wasn’t quite sure he did.
“Are you sure you don’t need me tomorrow? I can bring over dinner again.”
Heather smiled. “I can’t possibly finish that lasagna in one day. I’ll be fine. I promise.” Holding up three fingers, she gave a mock scout salute. “I’ll call if I need anything.”
Nora tilted her head, as if trying to tell if Heather was really speaking the truth. “All right. But call me if you change your mind. It’s no problem for me to swing by on my way home from work.”
“Thank you,” Heather said, as the petite woman strode to the door. Jeremy held it open for her and received a smile as she stepped outside.
When he turned back to the scene in the center of the room, Clay was kneeling next to Heather, holding both of her hands in his.
“Did Kit say anything before she died?” Clay asked softly.
Heather’s lips trembled, and she finally bit on the lower one. “I’m sorry. She didn’t.” She looked away, then back at the other man. “It all happened so fast. She was gone so fast.”
Clay cleared his throat and ran one of his hands through his overly styled hair. “I’m sorry to ask you to relive it.”
Heather managed another wobbly smile, and Jeremy took that as his cue to give them some privacy. He cleared his throat as he opened the door, and two sets of eyes focused on him. “I’m just going to run over to my place and pick up a few things. I’ll be back in about half an hour.” Then just for Heather, “You’ll be okay until then?”
She nodded. “I’m good.”
Clay, on the other hand, looked like he’d swallowed a bug. His pale blue gaze jumping back and forth between them, he asked, “What’s going on?” His shoulders squared into a definitively older brother posture. Jabbing his thumb in Jeremy’s direction, he spoke directly to Heather. “Is this guy staying here with you?”
Jeremy shrugged as he slipped out the door. Heather could deal with Clay like she’d dealt with Dr. Rob.
At least as long as Clay was there, Heather wasn’t alone if someone made another attempt on her life.
FIVE
Heather stumbled into the kitchen in search of the pot to start some coffee, only to find the pot brewed and already half-empty. Flinging open the cupboard door on the hunt for her favorite mug and finding it missing made her grumble.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Brushing a wayward lock of hair out of her face with her forearm and balancing on one crutch, she glared at Latham. Relaxed at the kitchen table and drinking out of her blue-and-white-polka-dot cup, he peered over the top of the newspaper.
“You’re drinking out of my mug.”
His chocolate eyes flicked toward the cup in his right hand. “Sorry. I didn’t know they were assigned.”
“Well, they are.” He laughed, and she steamed.
Holding it out at arm’s length, he asked, “Do you want it back?”
“No. Just make sure it’s clean tomorrow morning.”
He chuckled again before diving behind his paper, a damp curl falling across his forehead. He had already cleaned up and was wearing a wrinkle-free, blue button-down. “What time did you get up?” she asked, resuming her hunt in the cupboard.
“A while ago. I’m a morning person.”
“Of course you’re a morning person,” she grumbled, filling her mug to the brim. Taking a sip, she nearly spit it right back out. “What is this?”
Setting his paper down and taking a gulp of coffee, he shrugged. “It’s a dark roast. Why?” Then as understanding crossed his face, “I like it a little strong.”
Her face contorted in pain. “That’s nearly a solid!”
This made him chuckle again. “It helps wake me up a little faster.” As she poured out about a third of the coffee in the cup into the sink and filled it back up with hot water, he mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out that sounded an awful lot like, “Apparently I’m the only morning person here.”
“Well, maybe I’d be more of a morning person, if I’d been able to get more than thirty minutes of sleep last night. As it was, even through the closed door, your snoring kept me up to all hours.”
He looked genuinely affronted. “I don’t snore. I don’t think.” Looking toward the ceiling as though thinking it through, he continued. “My college roommates never complained. Course they snored, too.”
Heather shook her head and took another drink of the now palatable java. “I’m going to go get ready, and do my physical therapy.” Her crutches clicked on the tile floor with every step. “I’ll be ready to go to Kit’s office in about forty-five minutes.”
His drying curls danced as he nodded. “Sure thing. Do you need any help with your therapy?”
She shot him a withering glare.
“All right. That’s a no.” He fought to keep the crooked grin from reappearing. “Can I make you something for breakfast?”
“I’ll grab a doughnut before we leave,” she said before closing her bedroom door on him.
True to her word, she emerged dressed and ready to head out the door—albeit with a tender knee—less than an hour later. Latham perched on the edge of the couch next to a pile of neatly folded blankets and pillows, his black cell phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he scribbled onto a hand-size notepad.
“Got it. Thanks, Anita. Yeah, I’ll be by later to take a look at it.”
He looked up as she limped to the corner of the sofa and leaned onto the padding of her crutches. “That was Anita at the sheriff’s office. She called to let me know that they moved the major pieces of the helicopter to a different hangar.” He waved the pad of paper. “Got the new address here, so we’re set to go whenever we want to check it out.”
He hopped to his feet, tucking his phone and notepad into his back pockets. “So, you ready to go?”
She led the way toward the door, showing him her keys before he could even ask. He waited for her on the second step as she locked the deadbolt behind them. As she turned toward him, he offered a hesitant smile.
She sighed, into her crutches, a pang of guilt knotting her stomach. “Sorry about before.”
“Before?”
Was he really going to make her say it? The silence hanging in the air answered her unspoken question. “I’m really not a morning person, and I have a bit of a routine about my coffee and breakfast.” She shrugged. “It’s been a rough week. I already feel off balance.”
“No worries. I get it.” He tipped his head back toward the living room. “I’m sorry if I snored.”
Then he reached out to her, as if to pick her up just like the day before. For the second time that morning she shot him a glare that had crumbled weaker men.
“Or not.” He laughed as he loped down the cement steps. “See you at the car…in fifteen minutes.”
Why did this man insist on pushing every one of her buttons? How could she possibly put up with him for the rest of the investigation? She’d do it for Kit, of course. But that was the only thing that made her take measured steps after the infuriating man.
It took only about half the time Latham had suggested it would for Heather to make it down the stairs and get situated in the backseat of his cruiser.
Adjusting his rearview mirror, he asked, “All set?”
They made eye contact through the mirror, and she nodded as he pulled out of the space. As she passed her Saturn SUV, a little sigh escaped. It would be several weeks before the doctor released her to drive again. At least then she wouldn’t be confined in this smelly cage.
“What do you think we’re going to find at Kit’s office?”
Truthfully she had no idea, even if she had been the one to convince him that it’s where they needed to start. “I’m sure whatever Kit was looking into, she kept copious no
tes about it.” She leaned over to readjust the angle of her knee. “That was just her style.”
“I know.”
“You do?” Her gaze shot to the mirror again, catching his for just a moment.
He shrugged, turning the sedan toward downtown Portland. A light mist covered the windshield, and his wipers reacted accordingly. “We met a few times.”
Heather sat up straighter. “How? Did she prosecute a case you worked?”
“No. But she did for my friend Tony at the police department. Tony’s the one who told me to get down to the morgue.”
“I remember.” Her voice was urgent, strained and unusual. She swallowed trying to get it back to normal.
“Tony and I were out celebrating closing a case one night, and we bumped into your sister. Tony introduced us, and I could see in her eyes that she wasn’t missing a thing about me. I felt like she was going to start a file on me the minute she got back to her office. Maybe that’s what we’ll find today.”
Heather chuckled. “That sounds just like her.”
While they were stopped at a red light, she stared at the black hybrid next to them without really seeing it.
Jeremy had pegged Kit in a single meeting. She read people. She read situations, looking much deeper than the surface. So how had she not known that someone was after her, willing to take down the sightseeing helicopter?
Maybe she had known about them. But why keep it a secret, even from her own sister? Kit certainly hadn’t told Clay, or he would have said something. Right?
The muscles in her neck tightened under the stress of this train of thought. As traffic moved again, she rubbed the nape of her neck and tilted her head up toward the fabric-covered ceiling.
God, I have to figure out who’s responsible for Kit’s death. I have to see… Don’t you see that I have to see this through? Justice has to be served. What happened can’t be for nothing. I just want justice.
Even in her mind, the prayer bounced off the felt, returning to her unanswered. The hollow words ricocheted around her head, only adding to the tension mounting there. Rubbing her temples didn’t alleviate the pressure or change what had happened.