by Liz Johnson
He reached out for her hand, and laced his fingers through hers. “Don’t do that to yourself. Let’s focus on what we know and not let our imaginations take over.”
She nodded, her eyes still watery. But she didn’t let even one tear escape before she sniffed and pulled herself together. Squeezing her hand, he tilted his head toward the road. “Tell me where I’m going.”
Heather clung to his hand, nearly cutting off circulation, as she gave him basic directions to Clay’s house. Jeremy tried to squeeze hers back in reassurance, but he wasn’t sure she could feel anything at that point.
As they started the twenty-minute journey toward the ritzy neighborhood where Clay lived, Jeremy whispered, “God, please take care of Clay. Whatever the situation, let us get there in time to help.”
“Thank you,” Heather said. Sliding along the seat, she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder.
He both loved and hated how perfect she felt there, her hair baby soft against his cheek. As he drove, he nearly forgot why they weren’t at the office looking for Mick Gordon. Nearly forgot that pangs of jealousy bombarded him every time Heather said the other man’s name.
Nearly forgot that he couldn’t let himself enjoy this, couldn’t allow himself to become a permanent part of Heather’s life when he hadn’t been able to save her from a break-in the night before.
It was all too familiar, leaving the woman in his life to fend for herself because he’d failed to protect her.
The muscles in his shoulders tensed, and he felt Heather’s muscles tighten beside him in response.
“You worried about what we’re going to find?” she asked.
Not really. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
He wasn’t about to spout off about the tragic memory, and he didn’t want to talk about his involuntary reaction to Clay’s name. Turning the wheel into an upper-crust subdivision of identical two-story homes with neutral paint and pale green trim, he sighed. “Nothing much. Just about how we met only six days ago, but you’ve become a big part of my life.”
“Me, too.” She threaded an arm through his and snuggled a little deeper. “Thank you for doing this.” She swallowed so loudly that he could hear it. “You’re doing so much more than you have to, and I appreciate it.”
He opened his mouth to respond, although he didn’t have any idea what to say. But as he pulled into the driveway of the address Heather had directed him to, his mind went blank at the all-too-familiar sight of the front door standing open.
Heather’s head shot off his shoulder, and she clattered out of the car before he could even turn it off.
“Clay!” she called as she swung up the front walk faster than he’d ever seen her move. Her hair swayed from side to side with each step, and he chased behind her, the lack of response from inside the house making his stomach roll.
“Clay, where are you?” Heather yelled just before reaching the door and smashing it open with the rubber tip of her crutch.
She stopped so suddenly that Jeremy ran into her back and had to grab her waist to keep her from falling forward. As he peered over her shoulder, he saw what he knew she feared most. Clay’s limp form lay in the foyer, a trickle of blood rolling down his forehead.
ELEVEN
“Step back!” Jeremy commanded. His hands on her shoulders moved her to the side, as he stepped past her. “Call nine-one-one.”
Heather fumbled for her cell phone, punched the wrong buttons twice and finally connected. “Is he alive?” she whispered as the ringer on the other end sounded in her ear.
Oh, God, please let Clay be okay. I know my prayers haven’t been worth much lately. They don’t seem to be making it over my head, and I’m sure that’s my fault. I just… Please, let him be all right.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“My sister’s fiancé was attacked.”
“Ma’am, where are you?”
Heather scrambled in her brain, staring at the green numbers on the house for a full second before she spit out the address. “Please, he’s bleeding.”
“Is he breathing?” Her voice was so calm, and Heather hated it. She wanted the other woman to understand her urgency, to see that her life was falling apart.
Jeremy kneeled next to Clay, two fingers on his neck. Then he leaned over, his cheek just inches from Clay’s face. When he straightened, the lines on his face had relaxed. “He’s breathing, and his pulse is strong.”
“Yes,” Heather sighed into the phone in response to the woman’s question. “But he’s unconscious. His head is bleeding.”
“I’m sending an ambulance out to this address right now. Please stay on the line until help arrives.”
Heather leaned against the door frame, letting her arm drop to her side, but not hanging up the phone. Her eyes locked with Jeremy’s as he pulled a blue paisley handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against Clay’s forehead. “He’s going to be okay,” Jeremy said. “Probably just a concussion and a couple stitches.”
At just that moment, Clay’s long black lashes fluttered and he squinted up at them, his face pinched in pain. His expression changed from confusion to understanding as his gaze moved from Jeremy to Heather.
“Heather,” he breathed.
“I’m here, Clay. I just can’t get down next to you right now.”
He made a move to nod, but Jeremy’s hand on his head kept him firmly in place. “How long have I been out?” Suddenly he wheezed a cough and grabbed his stomach, groaning.
“Stay still,” Jeremy said, his free hand on the other man’s arm keeping him in place.
A purple bruise on Clay’s chin began to take shape, and Heather winced. “What happened to you?”
Clay closed his eyes, leaning back onto the plush carpet. “I was expecting my housekeeper.” His chest heaved with the effort it took him to finish his thought. “I thought it was her. Someone crashed in when I opened the door. Hit me on the head. Must have kicked me in the ribs.”
His breathing became more labored, and finally Jeremy said, “Calm down. Don’t talk.” He looked up at Heather for confirmation. “An ambulance is on the way, and we’ll go to the hospital with you. So just hang on.”
And then sirens came, first a police cruiser and then an ambulance. Heather said goodbye to the operator on the other end of the line and walked with the EMTs as they rolled Clay out on a stretcher.
The young, dark-haired medic eyed Heather’s leg brace as she moved to join Clay in the vehicle’s bay. “Ma’am, were you injured, too?”
“What? Oh, no. I had surgery on my knee. I’m fine. I just need some help to get up there.” Before the older EMT could reach for her, a pair of strong hands hoisted her smoothly onto the single available seat and set her crutches next to her. She turned to give Jeremy a smile, but he was already backing away toward his own car.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?”
“Thank you,” she whispered, hoping he could read her lips, as she was sure he wasn’t able to hear her at that distance.
The doors slammed shut, and the younger EMT continued giving care to Clay. But Heather couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from Jeremy through the window and kept her eyes on him until they turned a corner and he disappeared. Then she rested her hand on Clay’s ankle, as they bumped along toward the hospital.
True to his word Jeremy was there as soon as the bay doors opened. Not even waiting to be asked, he reached for her and helped her land gently on her feet, then secured her crutches in place before stepping back.
In a flash the medical staff swarmed toward them, and they shuffled out of the way, watching as Clay’s stretcher was whisked away. One of the E.R. nurses asked them to wait in a small room, so they found two moderately comfortable chairs and settled in.
Jeremy didn’t say anything for so long that Heather finally broke the silence. Nudging his knee with her good one, she said, “Do you really think he’ll be okay?”
&nbs
p; He patted her forearm, the heat from his palm making it all the way to her shoulder and sending goose bumps down her back. Her mind immediately jumped to the kiss the night before, but she tried to block it out.
“He’ll be fine. The doctors will take good care of him.”
But what if it was related to the crash and the break-in at her house? If so, Clay was still in danger of being attacked again. Terrified that he would confirm her worst fear, she didn’t want to ask his opinion, but she had to know. Knowing was better than just worrying, right?
And nearly as important as having her questions answered, why wasn’t he reading her mind and giving her the response she longed for?
She looked at the stubble on his cheek, then lifted her gaze to his, willing him to see her worry there. His eyebrows came together, but he didn’t say anything.
Finally she leaned closer to him. “Well…”
“Well, what?”
“You know what!” Her voice rose a whispered octave. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He shook his head, running his hand over her hair and cupping the back of her neck. “I told you when we first met, I don’t believe in coincidences.”
She shrank away, her shoulders hunching to keep out the realization, the news she knew she needed to accept. Squishing her eyes shut, she tried not to see Clay’s bleeding and prone body, but she couldn’t wipe that image from her mind.
Jeremy cupped her cheek with his palm, lifting her face toward him, but he didn’t say anything until she opened her eyes.
“Heather, I know this difficult, but you and I both know that Clay is now involved in this case.”
“Did they—that is, do you think Kit told him something about the drugs?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll ask him.”
Jeremy’s face turned dark, as though a cloud had passed over it. “I’d rather you not.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“He’s a civilian.” Jeremy shrugged. “Okay, that reason feels a bit thin even to me, but I’m worried about too many people finding out how much we know. Maybe we don’t know anything. Maybe we’re on the verge of cracking the whole case open. Either way, if Clay inadvertently spilled our info to someone else, word could get around.
“Plus, what if Kit never said anything to him about it? There’s no need to get him worked up when he just needs to focus on recovering. After all, it doesn’t really matter if Kit said something to him, which I’m sure he would have told us about by now if she had. Clearly they think he knows something.”
Her lips pursed to the side, and she nodded. “All right. But we have to find Mick Gordon.”
“Agreed. Have you tried calling him back?”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes, recalling her fruitless efforts that morning. “But let me try again.” She pulled out her phone, redialing the number from the night before. It rang and rang but no one picked up and no voice mail system clicked in. She shook her head, turning the phone off.
If only she could call someone at the Bureau and ask them to trace the number. But she wasn’t supposed to be working on this or any case. Ignoring Nate’s strict instructions meant not only jeopardizing her standing at the Bureau and her friendship with Nate, but also her job.
“We’ll find him,” Jeremy said. “As soon as we get word on Clay, we’ll head over to the sheriff’s office and search county records.”
“Thank you.” She sighed just as a nurse in blue scrubs ambled up to them.
“Are you the family of Clay Kramer?”
Jeremy stood quickly, helping Heather up as well. “We’re his friends. Can we see him?”
The middle-aged nurse nodded. “He’s in room 3B, down that hallway. He’s still a little dazed from the concussion. The doctor wants to keep him overnight to monitor him, but he should be able to go home tomorrow.”
Heather leaned into Jeremy’s side, relief hitting her so hard it made her weak.
Whoever was trying to take out members of her family hadn’t succeeded this time, but they weren’t safe as long as he was free. She owed him for everything he’d taken from her, and she was going to pay that debt.
Only the knowledge that the coffee in his foam cup would burn him if it fell on his legs kept Jeremy from crushing it in his fist. He wanted to throw it across the room, but the other deputies at their desks wouldn’t appreciate that, either.
He glared at the computer screen again and growled. Mick Gordon didn’t exist. There was no sign of the man ever having a driver’s license in the state of Oregon, let alone Multnomah County. He’d never rented or purchased property in the area, and no one in the county by that name was paying taxes.
After nearly two hours of searching, he was right where he’d started, with a name and a phone number.
At least he’d sent a sleepy-eyed Heather home with another deputy, who had promised to wait in his car outside her house until Jeremy made it back. As usual Heather had initially refused to cooperate, but when a giant yawn cracked her jaw and made her blue eyes disappear beneath drooping lids during her argument, she’d reluctantly agreed to get some rest if he promised to call her the minute he found out anything.
Now the phone on his desk rang, and he yanked it up. “Latham.”
“Hey, man. It’s Greg.”
“Please tell me you have some good news.” Jeremy hated that pleading tone in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He’d asked the other deputy to track the phone number they had for Gordon. “I need a break in this case. What do you have for me?”
“It’s a number for a disposable cell phone.”
“Like the kind you can pick up at any grocery or convenience store?”
“Just like that.”
Jeremy ran his hand over his face, fingernails catching his whiskers. “It’s not registered? No way to track it? No GPS on it?”
“Nope. I’m sorry.”
“Any chance it could have been paid for with a credit card?”
“I thought you’d ask, so I checked with the convenience store that sold it. They can’t track which phone number goes with which purchase.”
Now he had a name and no phone number. Mick had probably ditched the phone and even if he’d kept it, he’d sure never answer it as long as he thought Heather might call again.
“Perfect.” He managed to hang up the phone without slamming it. Barely. Snatching the nearest piece of paper on his desk, he crumpled it into a ball and chucked it at his trash can as hard as he could. It missed. “Just perfect.”
He leaned his elbows on the desk, face in his palms. His stomach twisted painfully. He knew this feeling all too well. Knew what it was like to fail miserably in protecting the person he was supposed to take care of.
Suddenly his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Hey, Tony,” he said, picking up. “Do you have some news on the case? Any idea who broke into Heather’s place last night?”
“Nothing new. Just calling to check in. How are you both doing?”
Jeremy sagged back in his wheeled desk chair. “Heather didn’t get much sleep last night, understandably, so I sent her back to her place to get some rest. She was about ready to fall over.”
Jeremy could hear the smile in Tony’s voice when he said, “Seems like you’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”
“Cut it out, man.” Jeremy had known Tony for years, and while they had a strong professional relationship, they were also close enough to rag on each other. Jeremy usually didn’t mind being on the receiving end, but something about the current situation set him on edge.
“Hey, I’m just kidding.”
“I know. I’m just strung tighter than usual.”
Tony seemed to be waiting for Jeremy to continue, but he didn’t. Finally Tony said, “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
That wasn’t true. The memories of Reena and the reality of Heather felt like ulcers brewing in his stomach. T
hey left a wake of headaches and heartbreak. He didn’t want to think about them. But as long as he remained silent on the subject, his distress was going to continue.
Maybe Tony had dealt with something similar and could give him some advice, help him deal with the situation until the case was solved and he could remove himself from Heather’s life.
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Actually…” Tony waited again, this time not breaking the quiet. “I’m staying on Heather’s couch right now, ever since she was released from the hospital. With her injury and someone clearly trying to kill her, I wasn’t comfortable without her having someone else in the house overnight.”
“Sure. Makes sense. So what’s the problem? You don’t want to be there anymore?”
“No!” Jeremy clamped his mouth shut, looking around to make sure the other desks in the general vicinity were empty. There was only one other deputy at his desk on the opposite side of the room, but it was enough to make Jeremy stand and walk toward one of the small interrogation rooms where he could have complete privacy.
“I mean, I want to be there,” he continued. “I want to protect her, but I don’t think I’m the best guy to do that.”
“Why not? You’re a sheriff’s deputy. You’re qualified and competent. Besides, you’re already involved in the case. Why would someone else be better?”
Tony’s tone was earnest and understanding, and Jeremy had to make a decision. Either he would tell his friend the thing that no one else in Portland knew and possibly get help. Or he’d push it back down and hope time would deal with the pain.
Except it had been five years, and he still hadn’t forgiven himself.
Clearing his throat, he leaned on the table. He ruffled his hair with one hand then rolled his neck several times. “Before I moved out here, I made some mistakes.”
Jeremy could almost see the man on the other end of the line straighten up, instantly alert. “What kind of mistakes?”