by Karen Rose
‘She any good?’
‘She’s very good.’ The sassy voice came from behind them. Clay turned to find Izzy with an expensive camera hanging around her neck. Her mouth was bent in a saucy grin, but her dark eyes, so like her sister’s, were grave as she studied his face. ‘Clay. It’s good to see you.’
‘And you. How’s Cordelia?’ Stevie’s little girl had stolen a piece of his heart long ago.
‘In the barn, brushing a horse. She’d love to see you, if you have a moment.’ She looked over at Joseph. ‘I only need a few more minutes. I’ve already got most of what I need, but the sun’s moved and the shadows will be different. Thanks,’ she said as Joseph opened the gate for her. ‘Cordy’s in the second stall on the right,’ she added pointedly to Clay.
Clay pushed away from the fence. ‘I’ll look in on Cordelia, then get to work.’
‘Hey, Clay, wait a second.’ Joseph shifted so that he could talk to Clay and keep his eye on Daphne at the same time. ‘Daphne’s planning a bridal shower for Paige.’
Clay winced. Paige Holden was his partner on the PI side of the business, engaged to marry Joseph’s brother, Grayson. A third-degree black belt and weapons expert, Paige was an asset in the field, and an even better friend. Grayson was a lucky man and had the good sense to know it.
But a bridal shower . . . Daphne had teasingly invited him, but Clay’s concept of friendship did not extend into such unfamiliar and potentially hostile territory. ‘Yeah, I know. I plan to be far, far away that night.’
‘Grayson and I do, too. We’re going to charter a boat and do some deep-sea fishing. Grayson prefers that to a bachelor party. It would be Grayson, JD, and me. You’re welcome to join in, if you’re free.’
Warmth loosed some of the knots in Clay’s chest, a welcome relief after the shock of thinking he’d see Stevie again. ‘I’ll make myself free. You got a charter lined up?’
‘Not yet. Why?’
‘My dad has a boat, moored at Wight’s Landing, on the Bay. He takes small groups out from time to time. He knows all the best spots for rockfish. He’ll give you a good rate.’
‘Sounds great. Text me his info and I’ll book it.’
‘Will do. I’ll see you later.’ Clay headed off to the barn to visit with little Cordelia Mazzetti. And then he planned to dig trenches with DeMarco and Julliard. A little backbreaking effort might be just the thing he needed to kick Cordelia’s mother out of his mind.
Baltimore, Maryland, Saturday, March 15, 2.10 P.M.
The sight of her friend had Stevie’s heart settling. Her worry and her fury and her sadness were all still there, but muted. Bearable. ‘Em.’
Emma’s head turned at the sound of her name, her smile blooming as she rose and held out her arms. ‘Stevie.’
Stevie hugged her hard. They were well matched from a size standpoint, she and Emma. Stevie was a firm five-three with her socks on. Emma Townsend Walker claimed to be five-two, but it was a lie. Her friend needed heels to even approach five-one.
In most other ways they were polar opposites. Emma was a girlie-girl who loved dresses, makeup and bangles, while Stevie was most comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt with a firearm holstered on her shoulder. Emma was an academic, an author even. Stevie couldn’t sit still long enough to read a book.
Of notable exception was Green Eggs and Ham. It had been Cordelia’s favorite when she was small. Stevie had so many fond memories of her little girl curled up in her lap, helping her turn the pages with chubby little hands, giggling at the pictures.
The other exception, perhaps even more notable, was Emma’s book, Bite Sized, her work on how to cope with trauma. Stevie had read it over and over again until she could hear the words in her sleep. Until the words were louder than the lonely roaring in her head. Bite Sized had helped Stevie bear the unspeakable grief of March 15.
It was a day Stevie thought she’d never live through. Had it not been for the child growing in her womb, she might not have. Cordelia had given her a reason to live. Emma helped her figure out how to do so. One day at a time. One bite at a time. You can eat an elephant, one bite at a time, Emma was fond of saying.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ Emma whispered fiercely. ‘I saw the shooting on TV in December and I was so afraid we’d lost you forever. Are you all right? Really, truly all right?’
‘Some days I’m more all right than others.’ Stevie pulled back, leaning heavily on the cane for balance. ‘But I’m still here and I’m damn grateful to be.’
‘Sit, for heaven’s sake,’ Emma commanded. When they had, Emma took a long, measured look at Stevie’s face. ‘You look better than I expected. Your hair is longer. I like it.’
Stevie tugged at her hair self-consciously. It was the longest it had been in years. ‘I’ve been too busy to get it cut.’
Emma’s eyes narrowed slightly and for a moment Stevie thought she’d ask what had kept her too busy for a haircut. ‘The style looks good on you,’ was all she said, though. ‘You should keep it longer when you go back to work.’
‘When,’ Stevie repeated resolutely. She’d get back to duty, to real duty, not some lame-assed desk job. She’d work the damn leg until it behaved. She would.
Emma’s lips quirked into a sudden smile. ‘I saw you walking up the sidewalk a few minutes ago. Your cane sparkled like a magic wand. Now I know why. Let me guess – Cordelia?’
‘Who else? Cordelia decorated it with glitter and left it under the Christmas tree. I think she’s been touching it up with more glitter every few days because we’re still finding glitter everywhere – on our clothes, in our hair, in our shoes . . .’
‘I wish I could see her,’ Emma said wistfully. ‘But I promised Christopher I’d get to Vegas in time to see him give the keynote speech at the symposium he’s attending. I have to be at the airport by four thirty. I hope I didn’t mess anything up on your end with the time change.’
‘No. Izzy’s been taking her to ballet since the shooting, so my schedule’s flexible.’
Emma leaned forward a little. ‘How is Cordelia?’
Becoming more brittle every day. ‘Too serious.’ Her baby had been through so much.
‘Is the counselor helping?’
‘I think so. I take her every week, sometimes twice a week. Her nightmares are becoming less frequent. A little vacation might do her some good. Maybe she and I can come to Florida to see you and the boys soon. How are the boys? And Megan?’
‘Megan’s loving grad school. CJ got a chemistry set for Christmas. I haven’t had to call the fire department once, which makes me happy. Liam got an NFL football from Will’s dad.’
Will had been Emma’s first husband. Just like Paul and Paulie, Will had been killed in a convenience store robbery gone wrong. Their shared experience was the reason Stevie and Emma had first decided to meet. But unlike Stevie, Emma had managed to go on, marrying her high school sweetheart, Christopher, and having two beautiful sons with him. She’d embraced Chris’s daughter from his previous marriage as her own as well.
Stevie was fiercely happy for them even as she envied their happiness. Then she frowned as Emma’s words sank in. ‘Wait. Will’s father gave him the ball? Not Christopher’s father?’
‘Will’s dad bought that football the minute Will and I announced our engagement,’ Emma said with a wistful smile. ‘Will was an only child, but his parents always called me their daughter. They treat my kids with Christopher like their own grandkids. It’s really lovely. Will’s father had been holding on to it for all these years, just waiting for a grandchild – the right grandchild – to give it to. CJ wouldn’t have appreciated it the way Liam does and Megan had lost interest in football by the time Chris and I got married.’
‘Cordelia’s not into sports. She loves ballet, but I suspect it’s mainly for the shoes and the tutus.’ Stevie swallowed hard. ‘Paul’s father still keeps the toys that he never got to give to Paulie. I’ve told him to donate them, but he’s never gotten around to it.’
‘What I was about to say,’ Emma said when the waitress was gone, ‘was that maybe Paul’s dad is holding on to them like Will’s dad held on to Liam’s football. You never know what’s coming down the pike. You’re only thirty-six. You could have more kids some day.’ She switched to a twang. ‘You’ve got ye a few good child-bearin’ years yet and a decent pair of hips.’ She grinned. ‘That’s what Christopher’s dad said to me right before our wedding.’
‘And you still speak to him?’ Stevie asked dryly.
‘Sure. He’s great with the boys. This week is the boys’ spring break and all four of the grandparents are taking them to Disney World.’
‘Tag teaming so the boys don’t wear them out?’
‘You got that right. Meanwhile, Christopher and I get a Vegas vacation. Alone. No kids. He’ll get his chemistry fix at the symposium during the day, and I’ll get mine at night.’ Her eyes went sly. ‘You could come with me and I could set you up with one of Christopher’s friends.’
Stevie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t start, Em. I mean it. I’m not interested in fix-ups.’
‘Fine, fine.’ Emma raised her hands in surrender. ‘I just thought that you might be open to someone new since you broke up with the PI.’
Stevie blinked in surprise. Clay Maynard. Instantly Stevie’s mind flooded with the memory of waking in the hospital to find him sitting beside her, his dark eyes so relieved that she’d finally regained consciousness, that she’d lived. But they’d filled with pain when she told him to go away, to find someone else to love.
She’d cried after he’d left. Wished she could take the words back. But she couldn’t, shouldn’t, and hadn’t. She’d done what needed to be done. It was for the best. For both of us.
Just thinking about Clay today, of all days, made her feel guilty. No one could come close to taking Paul’s place. To let Clay attempt to do so would be disastrous. For both of us. She’d never love him the way she’d loved Paul and eventually . . .
He’d hate me. She’d rather him hate her now than after she’d allowed herself to care about him. It would break her heart again. And more importantly, Cordelia’s.
All of which is no one’s business but my own. Not even Emma’s.
‘How did you know about the PI?’ Stevie said, keeping her annoyance in careful control.
Emma winced. ‘Your brother told me that you two broke up when you were in the hospital.’
Sorin, I’m going to smack you. Her twin was a worse gossip than any old woman. He was also terrified she’d end up old and alone and continued to nag her about taking Clay back.
‘There was never anything to break up, whatever you were told,’ she said, and that was the truth. ‘We never went out on a single date. He kissed me once, in the hospital. That’s all. He was hanging around like a stray dog, hoping I’d take him in. So I cut him loose.’ More harshly than she’d needed to. But she couldn’t take the chance that he’d hold hope. It wasn’t fair.
To whom? To him? Or to you?
Emma was watching her carefully and Stevie suspected that her facade wasn’t as convincing as she’d hoped. ‘Why did you cut him loose, Stevie? Was he unkind? Unattractive?’
Unattractive? God, no. Stevie’s heart stuttered every time she thought about him. Tall, dark, massive. His face was . . . beautiful. His heart, filled with compassion and honor.
He saved my life, risking his own. Clay had run to her side while Marina was still shooting on the courthouse stairs, stopping the bleeding that the doctors agreed should have killed her. Anchoring her to life when she’d almost slipped away. You will not die, dammit. You will not leave me. You will not leave Cordelia. Dammit, Stevie, we need you. I need you.
Unkind? No. If anything, he was too kind. Too patient. He would have waited for her . . . forever. And that she couldn’t allow. He deserved a life. More than she could give him.
‘Emma . . .’ She let out a quiet sigh. ‘Please. I can’t discuss this today, of all days.’
‘Okay,’ Emma said, but her eyes were still calculating. ‘This is Cordelia’s spring break week too, right? Why don’t you buy two tickets to Orlando, leaving tonight? I’ll go to Vegas, be with Christopher during his keynote speech, then I’ll fly back to Florida and meet you tomorrow. We can join the boys and their grandparents for their vacation. Cordelia will love it.’
Stevie felt a mild flare of panic. ‘No.’
‘Why not? You said you’d bring her down to Florida sometime soon.’
‘I said soon. I didn’t mean tomorrow.’
‘If it’s a question of budget, don’t worry. I’ve got it.’
‘It’s not the money.’ Stevie lifted her chin, a defensive pose she recognized but couldn’t stop. ‘I’m not going to be able to walk well enough for a long time.’
‘Rent a scooter.’ There was no sympathy in Emma’s eyes. ‘You see them everywhere.’
Anger flickered in her gut. ‘I’m not using one of those damn scooters.’
‘Why not? We could glitter it up to match your cane.’
‘I said no,’ Stevie repeated, fighting not to grit her teeth. ‘This –’ she pointed to the glitter-covered cane ‘– is temporary.’
‘The scooter would be too,’ Emma said. ‘You could have a good time with Cordelia instead of working on old cases when you’re supposed to be recovering. You could be having breakfast in Cinderella’s castle instead of fighting off thugs and their knives with your sparkly cane.’
Stevie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not your business, Emma,’ she warned coldly.
Emma’s eyes flashed. ‘The hell it’s not. What if the next attacker is successful? What if the next assailant stabs you in the back before you can fight? You got lucky yesterday. What if the next bullet doesn’t miss and your PI isn’t there to save your life because you sent him away?’
With an effort, Stevie clamped her anger down. ‘Sorin,’ she uttered darkly, and wondered just how much her brother and Emma had planned what she’d say this afternoon. ‘He had no right to tell you any of this. Not my health, my love life, or my job. He had no right.’
‘No, he didn’t. But that doesn’t make what he said less true. I’m not sure why you have this death wish, Stevie, but if you keep pushing these old cases, eventually your wish will become reality. Somebody’s going to stab you or shoot you or blow your car straight to hell with you in it. And as you lay dying?’ Emma’s eyes filled with tears. ‘You might wish you hadn’t cut the PI loose. You’ll definitely wish you’d had that Cinderella breakfast with your daughter. But it’ll be too late because you’ll finally get your wish. You’ll be dead.’
Stevie bit back the torrent of words she’d never be able to take back. ‘I need to use the restroom.’ She needed to rein in her temper that seemed to grow more volatile every day. Lurching to her feet, she grabbed the damn glittery cane and wheeled around – only to smack face first into the waitress, whose tray was heavy with filled beverage glasses.
As she and the waitress went down in a clatter of metal and breaking glass, Stevie heard screams. And Emma’s voice shouting her name. Stevie lifted up on all fours to see if the waitress was all right. The woman was on her back, staring up at the ceiling, broken glass all around her. She wasn’t blinking.
The side of her head was gushing blood.
Which didn’t make sense. It was just a few broken wineglasses. Stevie reared up to grab a napkin on the table to stem the blood flow and froze.
The window they’d been sitting next to was shattered and Emma was gone.
‘Emma!’ Stevie shouted.
‘I’m here. Behind you.’ Emma was kneeling beside the woman who’d been sitting at the table next to theirs. Now the woman lay on her back, just like the waitress. Emma had her fingers pressed to the woman’s throat, taking her pulse.
The woman’s companion was kneeling on the other side of her, pressing dinner napkins to the wound, trying to stop her bleeding, tears rolling down his terrified face.
‘Elissa, stay with me,’ he commanded, his voice shaking. ‘Stay with me. Do not leave me.’ His voice broke when she continued to stare at the ceiling. ‘Please, baby. Don’t leave me.’
Stevie heard Clay’s voice in her mind, pleading with her as she lay bleeding on the courthouse steps. Don’t you dare leave me. She snapped herself back to the present.
‘Everybody get on the floor and stay there!’ she ordered, then dialed 911 on her cell. ‘This is Detective Mazzetti, Homicide. We have shots fired and GSW victims at the Harbor House Restaurant. One victim is a Caucasian woman, about fifty. GSW to the chest.’
Stevie felt for the waitress’s pulse. There was none. ‘The second victim is also a Caucasian woman, about twenty-five. GSW to the head.’ On closer inspection, she could see the back of the waitress’s head was gone. The woman was dead.
Crawling to the window, Stevie peeked over the sill edge, eyeballing the angle of entry. ‘The shot may have been fired from the roof of the building across the street,’ she told the operator. ‘No sign of a gunman.’
‘You said GSW victims,’ the operator said, her voice calm. ‘Are there any others?’
Stevie looked around, saw dozens of terrified people staring back. ‘Anybody else hit?’
At first no one answered. Then a man pointed to Stevie. ‘You are. Your arm.’
Stevie looked down at her biceps. Her sweater was soaked with blood, and . . . Ouch. Her arm burned like fire. But it wasn’t bad. She’d had a lot worse in the past.
‘Just me,’ she told the operator. ‘And it’s a graze. I’m okay.’
‘You’ve got help on the way, Detective,’ the operator said. ‘ETA less than two minutes. Stay on the line with me until they get there.’
‘I will. Please request that Detective JD Fitzpatrick and Lieutenant Peter Hyatt come to the scene.’ Stevie drew a deep breath. Her partner and her boss would help her make sense of this.