by Geri Krotow
This isn’t about you—it’s about him.
“Do you want to sit outside?” she asked.
“Sure.” He sighed and walked to the sliding glass door, waiting for her to pass through first.
Even in his despair, Drew was a gentleman. She’d hated him for this particular trait when they’d been fighting for, and then accepting the failure of, their marriage. She’d wanted him to crack, to just be a bastard so she could feel better about letting him go.
Letting them go.
She sat in the lime-colored Adirondack chair farthest from the door, while Drew sank into its royal blue twin.
The yard looked like spring on Whidbey. The small patch of grass was green, but come summer it would turn brown and dormant. Brambles threatened to take over the back part of their lot, but the blackberries were worth the creeping tangle. She used to love making blackberry pie for Drew. She gazed down at Nappie, who, loyal even when it had to pain her arthritic bones, was curled up at Drew’s feet.
Gwen waited. The silence wasn’t fraught with the usual tension between them, but with a certain dread that life as Drew had known it was over. She’d witnessed enough of his business to understand the dire mess he was in.
He was no longer the best, the most reputable physical therapist on Whidbey. A death in the very piece of equipment that had set him apart from the other therapists and rehab clinics was an impossible tragedy to come back from.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” His harsh query cut the late afternoon like the sunbeams that streaked across the western side of the lawn.
“Ask what?” She tightened her grip on the mug.
“If I did it.”
Compassion squeezed her throat. “Of course you didn’t do it! Why would you expect me to ask that, Drew? To think it for even a second. We both have our dark sides, but nothing criminal. You’re a healer, for God’s sake. That’s why this is affecting you worse than it would someone like me.”
“Bullshit. You care more about people than I ever have.”
“You’re confusing my drive to motivate sailors with your own compassion. You’re more natural at it.” He also didn’t know what she’d learned about herself while she’d held Pax in her arms, constantly aware that an insurgent could take the baby’s life in a single shot.
She’d kill for someone she loved.
He turned away and hit his head against the back of the chair.
“I just can’t believe we didn’t hear her.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment before he sat back up.
“Someone could have killed her, Gwen. A murderer may have been in my clinic this afternoon. A murderer, for God’s sake.”
He leaned back again.
“Don’t even go there, Drew. It’s an unfortunate accident, but maybe it was her time. She happened to be in the aquatracker when it happened, that’s all.”
He shook his head. “Do you really believe that?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I think we all have a certain amount of time here. Otherwise, why would I have lived when someone like Serena’s husband died over in Afghanistan?”
Drew stared up at the sky, unseeing. “Serena knows that equipment as well as I do. She’s emptied the tank, cleaned it inside and out on her own. She would never have set the dials to the settings they had to be at to force Dottie under.”
“Right. Just another reason to believe it was her time.” Gwen bit her tongue; she’d almost called him “honey.” Between her transition back to her real life and Dottie Forsyth’s death, her brain acted like a soggy sponge. She couldn’t hold on to the reasons she’d hated Drew, the reasons she’d been certain divorce was the only way out.
It’s not your brain.
But dammit, her heart wasn’t part of this discussion. Her heart belonged to Pax now. Being a mother was what mattered.
What about a father for Pax?
She was a lot of things but she wasn’t a user. She’d never stay with Drew just so Pax could have a father in his life. Drew wasn’t interested in the position, either; she was certain of it.
Not when she’d refused to start a family with him.
Drew tapped his drink on the wide arm of the wooden chair.
“I’ve been through some rough shit in my life, but this has to be the worst.”
* * *
AS HE SAID the words, Drew knew she’d assume that her disappearance hadn’t affected him.
It had, more deeply than she’d ever know. More than he’d ever be willing to tell.
“I’m going to lose it all, Gwen. If the authorities don’t charge me with murder or negligent homicide, the family will. Her granddaughter sat in the waiting area while her grandmother drowned.”
She put her hand on his and he hated himself for the immediate sexual response he had to her touch. What kind of monster was he that he thought about making love to Gwen when he’d just lost a client? All the possibilities he’d been afraid to examine—his feelings for Gwen, hers for him, if she’d consider involving him in the adoption—none of it mattered anymore.
Someone had died on his watch. Dottie was dead. So was his career.
“You’re exhausted and in shock, Drew. Let me get you another drink and then you need to go sit in the hot tub and let your muscles relax.”
“Like Dottie did?”
Her sharp hiss warned him a second before her words cut him to the marrow.
“Knock it off, Drew. You’ve never been one for self-pity. Why start now? You have a long road ahead of you and you need to keep yourself in shape for it. Beating yourself up will not bring Dottie back.”
“Gwen, her body’s not even cold yet! Can’t you cut me a break?”
Apparently, his words could still hurt, too. Her open expression shut down, and the smug face he’d learned to live with as they’d shared the house, but never their bed, fell back into place. As though the moments of comfort she’d given him today had never existed.
Without a word, Gwen picked up her mug and went back into the house. Nappie raised her head, gray snout sniffing the air. She groaned as she pulled her heavy body up onto her short, little legs and followed Gwen back into the house through the doggie door he’d installed when Nappie was still an energetic pup.
Even his dog knew he was done for.
“You don’t understand.”
He had nothing to offer Gwen. He’d almost convinced himself he did—that he’d be able to help ease her way back into her old life, and let her go when the time came.
But then she’d come back more fragile than he’d ever seen her. And she wanted to adopt a baby.
He actually thought he could help her adjust, vouch for her stability to the social workers, then let her go.
Again.
But now... “Tell me, Drew. Tell me what I don’t understand,” Gwen said from the side door.
“This isn’t something that can ever heal. It can’t be fixed, Gwen. Regardless of the reason, the cause—my clinic is done. I’ll lose my license to practice. It’s over.”
* * *
DREW SANK INTO the bubbling hot water and Gwen didn’t try to look away. He’d worn baggy old swim trunks, but instead of distracting from his physical attributes, they only accentuated his muscular frame. The dark brown hair covering his chest narrowed into its familiar sexy line down his abdomen, past his belly button. Desire, sure and life affirming, stirred. She hadn’t seen him naked, except for their unplanned sex three days ago, since well before the divorce.
“You’ve been kind to me since I’ve been back,” she said. She sat on the edge of the tub, her feet submerged. She wasn’t in a bathing suit and it wasn’t because she couldn’t find hers in the boxes in the garage. She’d had enough wet heat in the jungle to last her a lifetime. Maybe one day when it was snowing and she was older with arthritis
from her years of navy training, she’d be tempted back into a hot tub or sauna. Not yet.
You’d go in if Drew asked you to.
Not a good idea. She’d successfully put any thoughts of Drew and his sexy body out of her mind for years. She wasn’t going to let sex jeopardize the truce they’d found.
You already did that.
He kept his eyes closed, his head resting on the back of the fiberglass rim. “Yeah, well, you earned it. You had more than your share of hardship in the last half year.”
“I have and I got through it, and that’s why I know you’ll get through this, Drew.” She flexed her feet against one of the water jets. The surge of air massaged her arches and she wanted to groan with pleasure. But groaning wasn’t something she needed to be doing in front of a man she was desperately trying to stay away from.
“There’s no way I want to invalidate what you’ve been through, Gwen. I’ll never grasp the sheer evil you faced in the jungle. And you had a baby with you, to boot.” He rolled his head from side to side, slowly, stretching his neck.
She’d watched him do it hundreds of times before their separation. Maybe he’d always turned her on this much, but her skin felt as though a backdraft from a forest fire was hitting it. It wasn’t from the heat of the water in the pool, either.
This isn’t about you being horny.
“It’s done. If that’s what I had to do to save myself and Pax, then so be it.”
“What if you don’t get him back, Gwen?”
She hugged her folded legs to her chest. “Then I’ll have to deal with it like a grown-up, won’t I?”
“Like I am?” His eyes were open but he still didn’t look at her. She gritted her teeth for a moment before she became conscious of what she was doing and forcibly relaxed her jaw.
“We always lose when we compete with each other, Drew. It never worked in flight school or on active duty.” When they’d met, in flight school in Pensacola, they’d started flirting by comparing their training flight grades.
“One-upmanship won’t work now, either. We need to be friends.”
His gaze slammed into her. “We don’t need anything, Gwen. It’s about what we want. I wanted to have a marriage that lasted forever, a family with noisy kids running around, a job I loved to go to every day and a woman I loved to come home to at night. You and I blew most of those things out of the water, but through it all I’ve had my career. I’ve been able to make a difference to my clients. Until today.”
She sighed and let her feet dangle in the water again. He needed to vent, and she refused to take it personally.
“Like I said, it’s over for me, Gwen. No one’s going to come to a clinic where a client died due to negligence. Dottie should never have been alone.”
“We’re all human. Serena must have felt Dottie was doing fine, or she wouldn’t have stepped out to take the call.”
He ran his hands over his face, drove his fingers through his thick hair.
“I keep seeing the look on Serena’s face when I told her I couldn’t get Dottie to breathe. I gave her CPR until the EMTs arrived but she was gone, Gwen. She was gone when we pulled her out of the water.”
“I’m sorry, Drew.”
She was sorry. Sorry they’d messed things up so badly that she couldn’t even give him comfort in his hour of need. He’d certainly comforted her throughout her ordeal, but he didn’t know it.
She’d never tell him, either. It was Drew who’d saved her life. She’d thought of him every day, every hour, every long, scary night in the jungle.
CHAPTER NINE
NIGHTS WERE OFTEN long for a career detective, especially one who was worried about a friend. Cole Ramsey felt for his friend Drew. But Cole had to stay impartial, friend or not.
Cole looked at his kitchen clock. Only half past eleven, and he hadn’t made much headway with the case. There’s wasn’t anything more he could do until he had the autopsy results, but Drew... Cole couldn’t, didn’t, get involved with the subjects of his cases. Until Anita.
She’d been a murder suspect in the death of her estranged husband, which made her a potential felon. He hadn’t allowed himself to get involved, not until she was cleared of any wrongdoing.
He wasn’t sure what attracted him first—her sexy bombshell body, or the inner core of strength that had kept her steady through her husband’s death and the small community’s suspicion of her as his murderer.
Oak Harbor and the Whidbey Island towns around it were tight-knit and gossip was rampant, especially during a murder investigation. Working for the Island County Sheriff for the past twelve years had taught him that much.
Anita had been exonerated and Cole had found the real murderer, a navy commodore who was locked up for life.
Yet the community had prejudged Anita, and her trust in others had been broken.
Shattered.
Because of him.
He could blame the base NCIS for not being as forthcoming as he’d needed. They’d held their evidence against the commodore tight to their vests until the last possible moment. He could blame the sheer fact that most murders were domestic crimes, perpetrated by a relative. Anita certainly had motive, considering her soon-to-be-ex’s philandering and financial irresponsibility. Her husband had risked not only Anita’s security but that of their two young children, as well.
She was a warrior. She’d fought for her kids and herself, never gave up on her nursing degree and was now the best ER trauma nurse on the island. She’d been awarded the Community Cares award as healthcare professional of the year last December.
Cole liked a woman with drive; he could relate to it.
His cell phone vibrated and he braced himself for the next crime as he answered. “Ramsey.”
“Cole? It’s Anita.”
She’d never called him anything but “Ramsey.”
“How are you today?”
“Can you meet me for coffee?” Her voice, always strong and decisive, cracked.
“Where are you?”
“At home. I stayed home.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
The drive from his office in Coupeville up to Oak Harbor was twenty-three minutes following the speed limit and with no traffic.
Cole was going to do it in half that time. Anita needed him.
* * *
HE MADE THE drive in fifteen minutes. The route to Anita’s was burned in his mind. From the first time he’d met her, right after her estranged husband’s body had been discovered on West Beach, he’d known she was unlike any other woman he knew.
He walked up to her front door and it opened before he could ring the bell. Her eyes were swollen and her hair mussed. She wore Hello Kitty pajamas. He’d never seen her in anything but yoga clothes or her nursing uniform. The pajamas were baggy and didn’t reveal much of her knockout body, but on her they were sexier than anything from Victoria’s Secret.
“Come on in.” She stood back to hold the door open for him.
“Where are the kids?”
“With my parents.” She closed the door and turned to him. “I’m sorry to call you at night.”
“You know you can call me anytime. What’s bothering you?”
She stood there without moving, her gaze on his as though she was weighing how much to tell him.
“I just found out that one of my patients died.”
“At the hospital?”
She shook her head, her tangled blond hair moving with her like a mop.
“No, at a physical therapy clinic here in Oak Harbor.”
Cole’s stomach dropped.
“Who was it?” He already knew but he couldn’t reveal details of the investigation. Anita had to say the name first.
“Dottie. Dottie Forsyth. I took care o
f her whenever she came in for blood sugar spikes. She had a GP and endocrinologist but her diabetes was still pretty unmanageable. She’s been in the ER at least three times in the last month.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“This morning, shortly before she died.” Anita put her hand on his forearm. “Oh, Cole, what if I sent her away when I should’ve had her admitted? What if she died because of her diabetes?”
“Come here.” He took her in his arms. To his great surprise and equal delight, she melted against him.
She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. Cole closed his eyes and breathed in her scent. Finally, the moment he’d wished for—but not under these circumstances.
“Shh. It had nothing to do with you.”
“She was the sweetest lady.” Her words were muffled against his chest.
He nodded. Anita pulled back and looked at him. “You knew her, too?”
“Not before I was called to the scene today.”
“Oh, no!” Anita stepped back. “I shouldn’t have told you what I did, should I? You’re in charge of the case?”
“It’s fine, Anita. You did not kill her nor were you the cause of Dottie Forsyth’s death. I can’t talk about all the details, obviously, but she most likely died from natural causes—a stroke or a heart attack. Even if it was connected to her blood sugar, you’re not responsible. She was eighty, sweetheart. Nobody gets out of this world alive.”
God, he hoped what he was telling her was the truth. But even if the autopsy showed that she’d been having a diabetic episode, it wouldn’t have been enough to kill her.
“You know you can’t tell me that with certainty, Cole.” She shuddered. “There’s going to be an autopsy, right?”
“Yes. Can we sit down?”
Anita gave her head a little shake as if clearing away mental cobwebs.
“Let’s go into the living room. I’m sorry I didn’t offer right away—”
“Stop.” He steered her to the sofa with his hand on her lower back. Once they were seated next to each other, he turned toward her and took her hands.
“I’ve seen a lot of death, Anita, as have you. You’re right. I can’t promise that her diabetes didn’t make Dottie pass out and slip under the water. But I can say that you had nothing to do with it. From the medical report we’ve received from her GP, she’s been battling diabetes for over forty years. She looked and acted a lot younger than eighty, by all accounts, but the fact is we can’t predict when our time will be up. You know that better than I do.”