She gestured toward the paper at the end of the counter. “Won’t they think that’s odd?” A man who obviously didn’t cook, buying pork and chicken and pasta and veggies?
“When Mom runs out of decorating projects, she comes over sometimes and cooks. Anything that can be frozen and reheated. They’d think I was shopping for her.”
“I wish my mom had done that while I was working and going to school. I had to get by with frozen diet dinners.”
“Like you ever needed to watch your weight,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food.
It was a nothing little compliment, way too insignificant to justify the pleasure she felt. “I’ll have to after this week. Pizza, greasy burgers, Oreos and no exercise. I can already feel my butt expanding.”
He made a noise that sounded like a disbelieving snort, and that way overblown pleasure warmed. It felt almost like old times…though that almost was an awfully big one. There was too much between them for things to ever be the way they used to. She needed to remember that. Besides, the way they used to be wasn’t what she’d really wanted. She’d settled for friendship because it was all he’d offered, except for that one night.
They’d never spoken of it. Never. The next morning he was gone when she awakened, and when she’d dragged herself into work with one hellacious hangover, he acted as if nothing had happened. She’d waited all shift for him to say something, but he didn’t. Not one word, one action, not even one look hinting that he’d seen her naked. She was the one who’d gotten drunk, yet he’d developed blackout amnesia.
And since he never mentioned it, neither had she—and eight years later seemed a hell of a time to bring it up, especially considering all that had gone wrong between them.
“Everything okay around here besides Speed?” he asked between bites.
She nodded. “No phone calls, no deliveries, no prowlers, no door-to-door salesmen.”
“We don’t have those in Copper Lake. Though there are the occasional church people who go out inviting folks to Sunday school.”
He fished a pickle off his burger and dropped it on the rim of his plate. Without thinking, she picked it up and popped it into her mouth, savoring the crunch of pickle, the tang of mustard and the flavor of the beef patty it had nestled against. When Decker gave her a narrowed look, she realized what she’d done and winced inside. New relationship, new circumstances. So what if she’d always eaten the pickles off his burgers? That was then, and now was different.
“I might welcome a visit from a hellfire-and-brimstone believer,” she said. “At least it would be a break from the monotony of the TV.”
“If you wanted excitement, you should have stayed in Dallas.”
She gave him a sarcastic smile before taking the last bite of her burger. After washing it down with a drink of pop, she wiped her hands and mouth on a napkin, then wadded it. “I’m not looking for excitement. Just something to do.”
“Like what?”
She glanced around. Getting outside to work in his yard, no matter how badly it needed her touch, was out of the question, and obviously, so was a trip to a nursery for flowers. There wasn’t any real cleaning to do, no dishes to wash, no laundry overflowing the hampers. “I don’t know. I could…help out.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated, then her gaze fell on the doorway barely visible in the hall. “I assume your plans for that room don’t include painting the wood. I could strip it.”
The offer surprised her almost as much as him. Of all the rooms, the library had the biggest potential, with its tall shelves and elaborate window and door casings and black marble fireplace. The wallpaper was ancient, dark flowers on a darker background, and the drapes at the windows were burgundy and suffocating, but when all that was gone and the wood had received a new finish, it would be a lovely, cozy room.
Decker blinked, then took their plates to the sink and tossed the wrappers into the trash before he faced her again. “Have you ever stripped hundred-year-old varnish?”
“No. Have you?”
His mouth twitched as if he were almost tempted to smile, but of course, he didn’t. “No. But you don’t see me volunteering to do it, either. I actually had thought about painting everything in there except the fireplace.”
“All that gorgeous wood? I think that would be illegal.”
“That’s what Russ Calloway said. Well, that it would be a crime. He’s a builder who’s been giving me advice. His family used to be in logging around here. Now they’re in everything else. All the wood for this house came from Calloway trees.”
“Nice to know the history of a place. My condo has no history. Before it was condos, it was pasture.” They were personality-free, unit after identical unit. She’d been happy with it, but it was an investment more than a home. Someday, she fully intended to get married, sell the condo and have a real house to raise her kids in. A house like this.
But someday hadn’t arrived quite on the schedule she’d imagined. She’d turned thirty-six on her last birthday and was no closer to marriage and kids than she’d been when she’d bought the condo.
“So?” she prompted.
He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I’ll pick up the stuff before I go to the grocery store.” He glanced at his watch, then headed for the door. “I usually get off between four and five. I’ll call when I get home.”
Masiela let him get as far as the doorway before responding. “I’d never shoot without seeing exactly who I’m shooting.”
He glanced back. “I know. I’ll call.”
It felt good to smile, easing some of the tension that had taken up permanent residence in her jaw and her neck. She waited until the front door closed, then went looking for a pitcher in the cabinets. The first cabinet she opened held plates and bowls, and the cell phone number he’d mentioned that morning was taped to the inside of the door. She studied it, committing it to memory, then scanned the other business cards there: Luigi’s Pizza, Russ Calloway, a plumber, an electrician, a carpenter…and an emergency room doctor.
Cate Calloway. Not just a doctor, but part of the family that was into everything around Copper Lake. She was probably beautiful and delicate. Probably a blonde. Decker had always had a weakness for blondes. She probably oozed old money and good breeding and had never once felt out of place in her kingdom.
Unlike the half-Mexican, half-Cuban Leals, who’d spoken fluent Spanish before they’d picked up their first words of English, even though they’d been born in Texas. Who’d fit into their mostly Latino neighborhoods and schools, but when they ventured outside that comfort zone, had been taunted more than a few times to go back to whatever poor Latin country they’d come from.
Masiela would bet no one had ever dared tell Dr. Cate Calloway to go back to where she’d come from.
She was still scowling when she found a plastic pitcher in the cabinet beside the sink. She dropped in two tea bags, filled it with water and set it aside to steep, then breathed deeply.
Decker’s taste in women was none of her concern. If he’d fallen in love with a Southern belle princess do-gooder doctor, great. She wished them all the happiness in the world. Really. And she’d do it with a sincere smile while forcing the lie between her teeth.
In the meantime… She went into the library, stopping in the middle of the room and turning in a slow circle. The built-in shelves covered most of three walls, and the elaborately trimmed windows filled the fourth. The shelves weren’t the adjustable kind, either, where she could take them out and work on them in a more convenient position. Nope. They were nailed in place, which meant she would be twisting and bending like a contortionist to do the job.
And when it was finished, when she was gone and Decker and the princess doctor got married, this would probably be the doc’s home office. Her medical texts would fill Masiela’s beautifully redone shelves. The lovely old chandelier overhead would shine down on her desk. She and Decker would spend cozy evenings in here before retiring t
o the cozier bedroom upstairs.
Masiela huffed in disgust as she went to find the ShopVac she’d seen in the living room, then began cleaning.
Chapter 4
In a better mood than he should have been, Decker parked in the police department lot and was approaching the door when it swung open and a familiar figure walked out. She saw him, and for a moment it seemed she couldn’t decide whether to be amused or abashed. She settled on a combination of the two.
“Officer Decker.”
“Ma’am.”
This time Willie tried for a smile. It was crooked and showed nicotine-stained teeth, one missing. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like I got kicked in the nads yesterday. Have you been released?”
“For good behavior,” she said, her gray head bobbing to emphasize the words.
“Miz Franklin, I doubt you have even a passing familiarity with the concept of good behavior. Do you need a ride home?”
Her gaze shifted past him while she considered it. AJ knew home for her was on the north side of Copper Lake, at least a mile-and-a-half walk in the muggy heat. It could be broken up into manageable segments, though, by stops at the bars along the way.
Finally she looked back. “Don’t suppose we could run by the liquor store first.”
It wasn’t his place to judge her or try to force her to change. Still, he shook his head. “No, ma’am, I don’t suppose so.”
“Then I think I’ll walk and enjoy the beautiful day.” She smiled broadly and waved as she set off for the street.
He was reaching for the door when she stopped at the curb and yelled back. “Officer Decker, sorry about kicking you in the privates. I’ll try not to do it again.”
Chuckling came from behind him, and he scowled at two young uniformed officers coming in off patrol. They immediately wiped the humor from their faces, said polite greetings, then began snickering again once they’d gone inside.
The joys of a small town. Decker had known the move from Dallas to Copper Lake would mean some adjustments. He would miss the restaurants, sports, entertainment and all-night everything the city had to offer. He’d known there would be less privacy. It was easier to be anonymous in a city of a million-plus than one of twenty thousand.
But it really hadn’t been a difficult transition. After all, he’d grown up in a town not much bigger than Copper Lake. He was used to neighbors both friendly and nosy. He didn’t mind people taking more of an interest in the details of his life.
Except that there should always be something private about a man’s privates.
He went inside, checking in at the desk on the way, and then to his office. There, he closed the door and sat down, pulling the computer screen to a more comfortable angle. For a moment he just sat there, then reluctantly, he began typing.
The department’s IT guy down the hall could find the information he was looking for a lot quicker and wouldn’t even think twice about it. Everyone in town knew AJ had come from Dallas; they would expect him to have a passing interest in a murder that had happened while he was there.
But he didn’t ask the computer geek for help. He did it the semi-old-fashioned way: he used Google to look up the names of the principles in the case.
There wasn’t much available, and none of it recent. A handful of stories about Teri’s death, more about Israel Rodriguez’s trial. He also came across a few unrelated mentions of Kinney, Myers and Taylor. That was about what he’d expected. A murdered prostitute and three cops doing their jobs didn’t merit a lot of media attention.
The majority of the hits came when he looked up Masiela on Google. Cases she’d represented, bad guys she’d gotten off, victims she’d screwed over. She could have practiced any other kind of law and he wouldn’t have cared, beyond thinking it was a waste of a good detective. But, no, she’d chosen criminal defense. She’d taken everything she’d learned as a cop and used it to keep perps out of jail. He never understood how defense attorneys could sleep at night, when they spent their days trying to get guilty people set free. It had been even more unforgivable with Masiela, given her years in the department.
He was about to turn away from the screen when he hesitated, hand still on the mouse. He slid it across to the small link near the top that read “Images” and clicked. Several photos loaded onto the screen: Masiela in uniform, making an arrest, walking out of the courthouse beside another guilty client after another acquittal, being honored by some local women’s group, again by a Latino rights group. In most of the pictures she wore suits and her hair was pulled back and off her neck. She looked cool and elegant and successful and…satisfied.
She’d worked hard to get where she was. She had accomplished a lot. But she could have accomplished a lot of good instead.
Irritably, he paged away from the pictures, then called the dispatcher. “Give me the next call that comes in, will you?”
“You’ve got good timing, Lieutenant. I was just about to assign a shoplifting call at the mall. You want it?”
“Shoplifting?” Uniformed officers usually handled those calls.
“Yeah. A fifty-two-inch plasma TV. Almost makes me curious enough to go down there myself.”
AJ laughed with him. “Yeah, I’ll let you know how they managed.”
It took a few minutes to get to the department store that anchored the east side of the mall. A small crowd had gathered just outside the door, where the red-faced store manager and two male clerks were holding three teenage boys. Next to them stood the television.
AJ walked around it slowly. Both of his TVs were thirty-five inches, and the biggest he’d ever owned; but this one made them look puny in comparison. He didn’t even have a room in his house big enough for this TV.
Finally, he turned his attention to the boys: Connor Calloway and the Holigan brothers. If the Calloways were the social elite in the county, the Holigans were their polar opposite. Given the obvious nickname of “hooligan” several generations ago, they lived in the poorest part of town and came from broken homes with broken parents. AJ had started arresting these two when they were barely teenagers, though this was a first for Connor. Even so, AJ would bet this month’s salary that stealing the TV had been Connor’s idea.
The Holigans were staring at the ground, but Connor insolently met AJ’s gaze. “Why’d you do this, Connor? You could have paid for that TV with your pocket change.”
“What would be the fun of that?” Connor retorted, with his usual lack of respect. He was spoiled, obnoxious and rude, but everyone overlooked it because he was a Calloway and because his branch of the family had been involved in a scandal the year before that had resulted in his father’s suicide.
AJ didn’t give a damn that he was a Calloway, but he could cut him some slack for the suicide. Losing your father when you were seventeen, finding out that he’d loved a woman other than your mother his entire life, that he’d had a daughter with that woman and had been responsible for the mother’s death and the baby’s disappearance—that could be tough for anyone to deal with.
“What’s the fun of going to jail?” AJ countered.
Connor sneered. “Calloways don’t go to jail.”
“Think again.” AJ pulled his handcuffs from the case on his belt, but before he could reach for the boy’s arm, a strangled noise came from the store manager.
“Uh, Detective, um…” The guy was sweating profusely now, more than the heat could account for.
“Decker,” AJ said.
“Y-yes, Detective Decker. Uh, is this really necessary? I mean, it’s not as if they actually made off with the TV. We can just take it back inside and—and no one has to—to go to jail, right? I mean, they’re just kids.”
AJ’s smile was thin. The manager had called the police before he’d realized who he’d caught. If it were just the Holigans, he’d have been happy to see them dragged off in handcuffs, but a Calloway… The family members were his best customers. Most of them had turned shopping into an art form, and
they didn’t know the meaning of “economic downturn.”
“How much does this TV cost?” he asked.
“Thirty-two-hundred dollars,” one of the clerks volunteered.
“That’s felony theft by taking, punishable by up to ten years in prison. You really want to let them walk because you’re afraid his—” he pointed at Connor “—family won’t shop here anymore?”
The manager aimed for conciliatory, but instead just sounded panicked. “Like I said, they’re just kids. I—I don’t want a stupid mistake to ruin their lives.”
AJ rolled his eyes. “You gotta be kidding.” But obviously the man wasn’t. Returning the handcuffs to the case, AJ snapped it, then gestured to Connor. “Go on. Get out of here.”
With a cocky smile, the kid started toward a black pickup parked at the curb—in a fire zone, no less. Not that AJ could do anything about it, since the mall was private property.
When the other boys started to follow, he stuck out his arm. “Not you two. I want to talk to you.”
“But he’s our ride,” the younger boy whined.
“I’ll give you a ride.”
As the manager and the clerks began hauling the television back inside, AJ and the Holigans walked to AJ’s Impala. “Where was the TV going?” he asked, as they settled inside.
Both kids kept their mouths shut for a minute, then the older one scowled. “Connor’s house.”
“You risked prison time to help a rich kid steal a fancy television that he could easily buy for himself? What’s wrong with you two?”
“It sounded like fun,” the younger cousin said defensively. “You know, it’s not easy shoplifting a TV that big.”
“How did you manage it?”
The kid grinned. “Connor got some girl he knew to pretend to faint in the middle of the store. While everyone was freaking out about her, we just carried the TV out the door. Pretty cool, huh?”
AJ reached across the seat to thump him on the back of the head. “You’re seventeen years old; they’re eighteen. You’re not kids. If you’d been charged, you’d’ve been convicted and sent to prison. And trust me, there’s nothing cool about that. And it would’ve been you and your brother. Not Connor. His family would never let him go to jail, and yours couldn’t keep you out. You know that.”
Protector’s Temptation Page 6