“Does she have other friends?” Edwards, the force’s newest female officer, asked.
Brit stared at the bed. “I don’t know.” Cali could have all sorts of men friends waiting to take Stan’s place. His shoulders blade tensed at the thought.
“What time did they say she checked in?” Wolowitz asked.
“Around four. She called a friend and told her she was here. She didn’t say anything about going anywhere.” Brit rubbed his shoulder.
The vision of Cali lying somewhere bleeding kept flashing in his head. Then the vision flashed worse. He saw her lying somewhere with a cold stare of death on her sweet face; the same look he’d see on one of the bodies just a few hours ago in another hotel room. The same cold look that Brit saw on Keith’s face in his dreams.
If anything happened, it was his fault. He’d dropped her off at the school. He hadn’t stayed around to see if that creep had been waiting for her.
“Okay,” Wolowitz said. “We’ll comb the area again. Either she’s on foot or a friend picked her up.”
Or Humphrey had her.
The door pushed open. They all swung around. Cali, still dressed in the pink dress but now topped with a white sweater, stood in the doorway.
Her eyes widened. “What’s going on?”
Brit’s breath lodged in his throat. He gave her a quick onceover to make sure she wasn’t bruised or bleeding. She wasn’t. And that had him feeling like an idiot for overreacting.
“Where have you been?” The question came out harsher than he’d like.
Her red-rimmed eyes focused on him. “Why?”
The possibilities suddenly crossed his mind. “Have you been with Stan? If you’re hiding something, you could go down with him.”
She frowned, her shoulders tightened and every inch of her went on the defensive. “I haven’t seen him.”
“Then where were you?” Even as he asked it, he believed her about not being with Stan. Did she already have Stan’s replacement lined up? It shouldn’t bother him.
But it did.
~
Cali looked at the female officer as if needing an ally. “He’s a total jerk and I don’t like it. Does he have the right to treat me this way? Do I even have to answer him? I didn’t call anyone this time. He’s like a bad penny. He just keeps showing up.”
Edwards hesitated. “I think Detective Lowell was worried.”
“And I think he’s being obnoxiously rude. Oh sure, he’s been nice a few times, but then he goes back to being rude.” She turned around and stared at him. “Are you bipolar or something?”
Brit frowned and raked a hand through his hair. “How did I go from being a dickhead to bipolar?”
“Please, if you’re going to quote me, get it right.” Her chin angled upward in a haughty tilt. “The name I dubbed you is, Mr. Little Dickhead. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to run to the bathroom.” She skirted into the bathroom in a wave of pink fury and slammed the door.
The loud whack served as his wake up call. She was right. He was back to being a dickhead. Again. Brit saw the smile on Edward’s face. “You two can go.”
Edwards shot a questioning glance at her partner.
Brit released a deep gulp of frustration. “It’s fine. She’s just upset with me, but she’ll get over it.”
“So you two are…?”
“No,” Brit said, but it felt like a lie.
After they left, he sank down on the edge of the bed and dropped his face into his palms. He couldn’t chase the image of a bleeding Cali from his mind. He was so tired. So damn hungry. And confused. Why did he keep screwing up where she was concerned?
The answer came hurtling back at him. Because you’re scared she’s like dear ol’ Mom. Because you like her. Like her a lot. And the last thing he wanted was to find himself being attracted to someone like his mom; because then, by damn, that might mean he was like his dear ol’ dad.
The bathroom door opened. She’d washed her face, combed her hair, and if the fire in her eyes was any indication, she’d somehow gotten angrier in the process.
“Why are you even here?” she asked. “This is my hotel room and I haven’t broken any laws.”
He ran a hand over his face, and decided to run with the truth, or the partial truth. “Two bodies were found this afternoon. Murdered.”
He saw her trying to compute the information. “Stan?” Her color faded ever so slightly.
Did she care about the asshole? He got another shot of ire to his gut, remembering how his mom had cared about the numerous jerks she’d allowed in her life. He pushed it back.
“Not Stan. It was two of his band members. Ted Pratt and John Soles.”
Her eyes widened. “I met them once. What happened?”
The image of the two dead men flashed in Brit’s mind. The truth didn’t require details. “Their bodies were found in a cheap motel.”
“You think Stan did it?”
Brit didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. His phone was found at the scene. The men were killed sometime on Tuesday. We think the blood on your door could be theirs. We’re having it tested now. Plus, Stan was there earlier today. ”
Her color went paler. “He was there with the bodies today?”
Brit nodded. “We don’t know if he was searching for something or what. But the last call he made was to your high school. This afternoon.”
She dropped beside him on the bed as if her knees had given out.
“When I heard about the call to the school, I thought...” He took a deep breath. “I was worried Stan might have been waiting for you this afternoon. I thought I’d dropped you off right in his lap. And when your car was here and you weren’t, I thought the worst.”
She looked overwhelmed, as if only half listening. “How did you find me?”
Brit noticed her puffy eyes again and his gut clutched. “I went to the school. Your principal gave me Tanya’s number.” Brit remembered his last phone conversation with Cali’s friend. He pulled his phone out and hit redial and handed it to her. “Your friend’s worried. She made me promise I’d have you call her when I found you.”
He listened as she assured Tanya that she was okay. She kept it short, no explanation of where she’d been. When she dropped his phone back in his palm, he felt her hand shaking.
“When you weren’t here, I overreacted.” He fought the urge to brush his finger over her cheek.
Her baby blues looked away, and he hoped she’d tell him where she’d been. He believed she hadn’t been with Stan, didn’t he? Yeah, he did. Just like he’d believed her about the bracelet being in the garbage. And so far she hadn’t lied to him.
“Now what?” she asked.
You tell me where you were. “You like Chinese? There’s a restaurant next door. You hungry?”
The slight grumble of her stomach filled the quiet hotel room. He smiled. “I think that’s a yes.”
She placed a hand over her abdomen. “I guess so. I keep forgetting to eat lately.”
“Me, too.” He realized this must be a symptom of grief. And then not wanting to think about grief, he added, “And then someone threw my lunch away.”
She frowned. He smiled. “I’m joking.” He paused. “I need to talk to the hotel clerk. Assure him everything is okay with the cops being here. Give me five minutes and then we’ll do dinner.”
She nodded and he started out. “Lock the door,” he called and he waited until he heard the lock click. Just because Stan hadn’t been here yet, didn’t mean he hadn’t followed her.
He walked to the front office. The same clerk from earlier sat behind the desk. Now, Brit wished he’d been less abrupt. His people skills could use work. Or they could these last few weeks. Losing Keith had turned him into an asshole.
“Hi,” Brit said to the clerk. “Remember me?”
“Like I’d forget.” The man sneered.
“Sorry about that. We had a situation. And still do. I want Cali McKay’s name pulled off any and every record you
keep here. Put the room under my name.” He tossed down a credit card. “If someone calls, there is no Cali McKay here. But you get in touch with me ASAP.” He put a twenty on the counter next to his card. “Understood?”
The clerk’s blond brows pinched together. “There’s not going to be any trouble, is there?”
“Not if I can help it.”
~
As they walked next door to the restaurant, the tangy smell of Asian food reminded Cali of how the wind always carried with scent of the Oriental restaurant by her apartment. What she wouldn’t give to just be able to go home. Maybe paint her toenails and veg.
There was a wait on a table, so Brit suggested they order take out and go back to the hotel. Thoughts of being in a hotel room and eating takeout food with him seemed too intimate. But she hadn’t argued.
As soon as they’d eaten, she was sending him on his way. When they got back to the room, she sat on the bed, thinking he would be more comfortable in the chair. Instead, he followed her lead, and the mattress swayed. Cali’s spine tightened. Hotel room. Bed. Man. Good-looking man. Yup, way too intimate.
How had she arrived here? Why had she agreed to this? Taking a deep breath, she pressed a hand to her quivering stomach.
He opened one of the white boxes, and looked up at her. “I’ll share my chow mein, if you’ll share your cashew chicken.”
“Sure.” She watched steam rise from the box and for some reason, she thought of her mom.
They split the dishes and ate mostly in silence.
“You going to eat that?” he asked.
“I’m done.” She watched him pop her half-eaten egg roll into his mouth. First they shared a bed, then food, now he was eating her leftovers. What was next? Was he planning on staying the night?
He looked up; their gazes met. She turned away. Another silence swam around the thick awkwardness in the room. She heard him swallow, felt his stare.
Time to tell him to leave.
“Look,” she said.
“My name’s Brit,” he interrupted her. “What’s yours?”
“You know my name.”
He shrugged. “I know. I’m thinking maybe we could try it over again. A fresh start.”
She looked at him, unsure if she wanted to restart or end it with a clipped goodbye. But one glance into the hope shadowing his eyes and her heart softened. Caught by his gaze, she realized it wasn’t just hope, but some other emotion, something familiar. Grief?
“Cali. My name’s Cali McKay.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cali.” He grinned in that devilish way men do. Or the way some men do. Actually, very few she’d met had such a kiss-me grin.
“Thanks for having dinner with me.”
Her stomach did the flip thing again. He handed her a fortune cookie. She looked down at the plastic-wrapped cookie in her palm. “I’m scared to open it. I haven’t had what anyone would call good luck lately.”
“Maybe it’s about to change.” He opened his own cookie.
She watched him silently read it. “What does it say?”
He looked up, then down at the slip of white paper again. “It says... ‘Stop being a dickhead, Dickhead.’”
She laughed. His blue-green gaze locked on her and she suddenly felt too warm, too crowded. Scooting over a few mattress inches, she opened her own cookie. The crackle of plastic echoed in the silent room.
“And?” Humor still danced in his eyes.
She tried to think of something funny to say, but it didn’t come, so she just read it. “Listen to your dreams.” The message vibrated through her head. Just what she needed, a little doubt. No, not doubt. She believed Dr. Roberts. Her dreams were just—
“Nothing about me being a dickhead, huh?”
“Nothing.” She grinned and stacked the empty containers.
“I’m really not a dickhead. Not normally.”
She remembered what the doctor said about her being attracted to the wrong type of men. The silence grew loud again.
“What did your fortune cookie really say?” she asked.
“What? You don’t think they’d say dickhead in a fortune cookie?” He picked up the slip of paper and read. “Don’t pass up the next opportunity.” His gaze moved to her mouth.
Cali got up and carried the empty containers to the small waste basket. “Thanks for dinner,” she said, remembering he’d refused to let her pay again. Wringing her hands, she tried to figure out how to suggest he leave.
“You’re welcome.” He studied her. “I need to ask you some questions about Stan,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.
She continued to stand in the middle of the room. “You can ask, but when I filled out the report, I told the other officer all I know.”
“I’d still like to hear it.” He crossed his legs at his ankles, perfectly comfortable in her bed.
“Okay.” She remembered the bracelet. “Did you find out if the bracelet was really from the jewelry store?”
“It’s being checked by the distributor. But we’re pretty sure it is.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Where did you meet Stan?”
She didn’t see how this was important to the case. “At the coffee shop near my apartment. I’d seen him there before. One day I was digging in my purse for some change to pay for my coffee, and he came up and paid it for me. He asked if he could join me. The shop was crowded and no more seats were available. It seemed rude to say no, so I said yes. He was there most days when I showed up, so we sat together. He seemed nice, or at least he did at first. I was…my mom was dying.” She felt the grief tighten her chest. “I guess I needed someone to talk to. About a month later, he asked me out.”
Brit sat there just listening.
She remembered that he thought she was the type of woman who got off being a victim. And while he might be partially right—she might run from conflict and try too hard to be nice—she refused to believe she’d really allow a man to abuse her.
“I needed to forget about my problems, so I went out with him. A few days later, I had car trouble and he drove me to my mom’s, and even fixed my car for me. Before I knew it, he told me he was having problems with his roommate, and his new apartment was supposed to be ready in a week or so. Mom’s health started going downhill really quickly, and I wasn’t even at my apartment most of the time, so I told him he could just stay there. Then she died and I realized he’d been there for almost a month.”
Brit continued to study her but didn’t say anything, and nervous at what he might think of her, she kept talking. “He never came across like someone who would rob a store,” she added. “He was even nice most of the time.”
“Unlike me,” he said and frowned.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m not going to disagree with you, if that’s what you think.” She grinned.
He chuckled, then settled back against the wall. “Besides the band members, do you know any other of his friends or family?”
“No. He said he hadn’t been in town long. Said his family was from Oklahoma. That his parents had passed. He said the band was about to get a record deal with some small recording studio in town.”
“Did he ever mention any other girlfriends?”
“No. He was alone and I think I was scared of being completely alone.” She moved and sat in the chair beside the bed and stared at the pictures on the wall. Contemporary art—splashed with reds and blues. She didn’t want to think about Stan anymore.
“Where were you this afternoon?” This question came out in a different tone. Almost as if she didn’t have to answer it if she didn’t want to, but she did.
“The Hospice Center. It’s down the street. I had to sign papers about my mom. I was coming to sign some papers and saw the hotel and decided to stay here.” Another shadow of guilt touched his expression. Had he really believed she’d been with Stan today? The thought hurt.
At least the dickhead had a conscience. As well as great shoulders, she noticed again.
“I�
�m really sorry.” He folded his hands over his flat stomach. “Why didn’t you stay with Tanya?”
“I stayed there last night. She’s a jewelry artist and I know she has work to do.” And possible sex scheduled, even if she did say she was postponing it.
“You have any other family?” He yawned.
“No. It’s just Mom and me.” Her chest clutched again. “Just me.” Needing a new focus, she asked, “You got family?” She looked at the empty spot next to him on the bed, but didn’t move from the chair.
“A sister and a mom. A few cousins here and there. We’re not really close.” He leaned against the pillows.
“With who?” she asked.
“Who what?” He uncrossed his ankles and stretched out, letting his body sink deeper into the mattress.
“Who are you not close to?”
“My cousins... My sister is a great gal.” He shifted his shoulders as if to get a kink out and closed his eyes
“And your mom?” Cali asked. Having just lost her mother, she couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t value having a parent.
He opened his eyes. She noticed for the first time how tired he looked. His blue-greens were rimmed in red, bloodshot, and he had that crease between his brows. She remembered her mom saying he was going through something. And the shadow of pain in his eyes was familiar.
Had he lost someone he loved? The question lay heavy on her tongue.
“My mom is . . . complicated.” His eyes drooped shut and he scooted down just a bit, getting more comfortable.
Was he really going to go to sleep in her bed? “Complicated how?”
He didn’t answer. His head dropped an inch to the side. She remembered him telling her that he’d been working the night before when he found the picture of the bracelet. Then she recalled him being there the night Stan had shot at her. Did he work third shift? If he did and he showed up at the school this morning, that meant he hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. Okay, she’d let him nap for a few moments.
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