Her hope of escaping unscathed was quashed when she saw Dad in the front hallway, riffling through the morning mail, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Hard to believe he was past fifty. An unexpected rush of affection warmed her. He glanced up, saw her descending the staircase with car keys in hand. “You’re going back out,” he said.
“Yes, Dad, I am.”
“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of it.”
She should have known better than to think she could fool him. Of course, he knew she was with Mikey. Where else would she be? “No,” she said, “you can’t.”
He removed the glasses, folded them, and set them on the hall table with the mail. “After everything Ryan put you through—”
“This is nothing like that.”
“He hurt you so bad.”
“It doesn’t matter any more. I’m over it.” And she realized, with a pang, that it was true. Any feelings she’d had for Ryan Legend were gone. Nothing more than dust. Any residual anger she felt was only because of the dogs. “Ryan was a snake,” she said. “I didn’t intend to tell you this, but he’d been cheating on me for half the time we were together. Maybe all of it. He did me a favor when he married Vanessa. And you know what they say. Once a cheater, always a cheater. He’s probably already sleeping around on her.”
Her father squared his jaw. “I don’t want to see you hurt again. Mikey has so many issues.”
“He’s a good man, Dad. In all the same ways you’re a good man. He’s honest and kind and courageous. And, yeah, he’s a little lost. He’s been looking for something. Maybe what he’s been looking for was me.”
“Isn’t that naïve?”
“Listen,” she said, “I’ve talked to Casey. I know what you two went through. Not all of it, but enough so I could fill in the blanks. I know how long you loved her. How long you waited to be together. I’ve loved Mikey for half my life. You had your turn. Now it’s mine.”
“It’s that serious, then.” It wasn’t a question. She could hear the resignation in his voice.
“Yes,” she said. “It is.”
“If he hurts you—”
“If he hurts me, I’ll pick myself up and keep on going. Just like you’ve always done. Because I’m your daughter, and we MacKenzies are built tough. I don’t want to live my life with regrets. And the biggest regret I’ll ever know is if I let this slip through my fingers. It may work out, it may fizzle out to nothing. I may get my heart broken. But if I don’t give it a chance, I’ll never know. And I’d regret that to my dying day.”
* * *
“YOU CHEAT, LINDSTROM!”
“You know, I’m really offended by that. I’m an honest businessman with a large chain of hotels. Is it my fault you landed on Park Place? You just aren’t open to any healthy competition, MacKenzie.”
She picked up her wad of play money and gave him the evil eye. “I’m also pretty well convinced that you invented this game of Strip Monopoly just so you could get me naked.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I got you naked last night, hours before the game board came out. Come on, pay up. You know the options: Fifteen hundred in cash, or one more piece of clothing comes off, or—” He leaned forward with an evil leer. “You pay a forfeit. Them’s the rules. You agreed to follow them.”
“That was before I figured out that you cheat. Just like you did at Scrabble.”
“How the hell do you cheat at Scrabble?”
“By making up words that don’t exist.”
“Such as?”
“Scaramuffin?”
“It was an honest mistake.”
“Not buying it, Michael. You might as well admit the truth. Maybe we can find you a twelve-step program for People Who Cheat at Board Games.”
“And then what? The Game Police come and arrest me?”
“And cart you off to rehab. It could happen. You never know.”
“You take all the fun out of it.”
“I don’t know about that. You seem to be having all kinds of fun staring at my boobs.”
“In my defense, they’re really nice boobs.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“It was meant as a compliment.”
While he watched, she counted out fifteen-hundred dollars in play money. “Here you go, Officer. I should report you for being a perv. Policemen are supposed to be our friends.”
He took the money, folded it into the wad of cash in his hands. “You bought into that hogwash?”
“I did. But you’re a really sick and twisted individual.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Game temporarily forgotten, they sat there, staring at each other, grinning like fools. “This is nice,” she said softly.
“Threatening to have me arrested?”
“I’m serious. Being together, like this. Acting like normal people.”
“We are normal people.”
“In the world where I’ve been living, not so much.”
“How’s that?”
“There’s all this artifice in the entertainment industry. So much kissy-kissy-so-nice-to-see-you while they stab you in the back. So much competition. So much pretension. So many massive egos that need constant stroking.”
“That doesn’t sound like your kind of thing.”
“It’s not. I’m there for the music, and my friends aren’t like that. But I spent three years as a decorative accessory attached to Ry’s arm, and it really opened my eyes. Those girls who were catty and rotten and shallow and vain back in high school? They’re all in Hollywood now, and they’d still rip your heart out because being cruel is a lifestyle for them. I don’t run in those circles, where you have to be so careful what you say, how you dress, who you have a drink with before dinner. But Ryan does, which means that, like it or not, I was peripherally connected to that world for three long years.”
“And you hated it.”
“I did. Spending time on the road was my salvation. Being with my tribe. I know there are some people in the music industry who are there for the fame and the money. But for me, that’s not what it’s about. It never has been, and never will be.”
“That’s why I like you, MacKenzie. You’re the real deal.”
“So are you, Lindstrom.” She paused, not sure how to approach this, decided to meet it head-on. “Come with me. To California. Come work for me.”
“In the land of pretentious back-stabbers?”
“I told you, my people aren’t like that.”
He set down his play money, said, “Go on. I’m listening.”
“You did security work in Iraq, so you’re already familiar with the field. You’re not happy with what you’re doing now.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I need a head of security. You’d be outstanding in that position.”
“And I get the added bonus of sleeping with the boss?”
“If that bothers you, we can make Lucy your boss.”
“I’m just kidding. Sort of. What about Tim? I really thought you might have second thoughts about firing him.”
“I’m not asking Tim to come back. He was never loyal to me, only to Ry. Even if I was willing to forgive and forget, he has another job now. I talked to Lucy yesterday. She’s bugging me about hiring a new security team. She’s right. Lucy’s always right.”
“What would the job entail?”
“You’d coordinate all my security. Put together your own team of people you’re comfortable working with. Tim had five team members, but you could have as many, or as few, as you need. You and the team would provide bodyguard services at public events in L.A. You’d go with us on tour. Security at the venues is probably the highest priority. Tony DeAngelo and I—he’s my lead guitarist and business partner—both get our share of kooky fanatics. So do the rest of the band, to a lesser extent. There are some really sick people out there, and your job would be to see that they don’t get to us. We start touring at
the end of December in support of the new album. I’ll need a solid team in place before then.”
She picked up his hand, kissed his knuckles. “Other duties as assigned.”
“I won’t be a kept man.”
Paige glanced up, fluttered her lashes coquettishly. “I don’t get to keep you?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’d expect to be paid what I’m worth. No more, no less. I’d expect autonomy. I’d expect you not to second-guess my decisions, or take advantage of our relationship. Not that I really expect you’d do any of that, but I’ve learned it’s better to outline your expectations up front.”
“Am I out of line, asking this? Is this thing between us just a fling?” Paige held her breath. If he said yes, her heart would shatter into a million pieces.
“No, and no. This thing between us—it’s real, Paige. It’s been a long time coming. But it’s real.”
She let out a sigh of relief. On the night stand, his phone rang. He reached behind him, picked it up, studied it. Silenced the ringer and put it back. “Gunther,” he said, at her look of inquiry. “I’m not answering tonight. I’m still ticked off at him over that stunt he pulled. When I think of what could’ve happened to you, I just—” He shook his head. “Let him stew in his own juice for a while. It’ll be good for him.”
“So?”
“I need to think it over. This isn’t a small thing you’re asking. It’s huge. I won’t say yes unless I know it’s the right thing to do. I think it is. But I need to be sure.”
“I understand.” She touched fingertips to his bare thigh, watched the goosebumps pop out on his flesh. “I’m starving. Do we have any pizza left?”
“Just a few cold crusts.” He reached out a hand, cupped her breast, teased the peak with his thumb. “We could pick up something at the Diner.”
“I could really go for some fresh-battered onion rings right now. Or, you know…” She inched her hand northward on his thigh. “Something else.”
“Insatiable wench. Food first, something else after. And then sleep, because I have to work in the morning.”
MIKEY
“YOU’RE LOOKING CHIPPER this morning. Must’ve got lucky, or something.”
Ignoring Greta’s comment, Mikey dropped his lunch bag and his travel mug of coffee on his desk, settled into his chair, and found some paperwork to occupy himself. But it was hard to focus. Greta was right. He was glowing so bright this morning, he should be wearing shades. He thought this might be what happiness felt like, but it had been so long since he’d been happy that he couldn’t be certain.
Come with me. To California. Come work for me.
If anybody had told him, just weeks ago, that his life would take this unexpected turn, that he’d be drunk out of his mind over a woman, he would have laughed. He was too caught up in grief and pain, too content with wallowing in it to bother opening his eyes to see the truth that stood right in front of him.
Paige.
She’d opened herself to him fully, with no reservations. Her body, her heart, her soul. He’d touched and tasted and worshiped every inch of her, and she’d returned the favor, leaving him helpless and shuddering and cleansed. It seemed an odd word, but it was how he felt, as though her fire and passion had burned away the darkness inside him and left something else in its place: hope.
He hadn’t seen hope in a very long time, either.
Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed his surroundings. The ugly drop ceiling, the fluorescent lights, the plain white sheetrock walls covered with fading law enforcement posters, the duty roster that hung next to Greta’s switchboard. He’d taken this job by default, not by design. Maybe it was time he stopped wallowing, pulled himself up by the bootstraps, and moved on with the business of living.
Southern California wasn’t a bad place to live. Lots of sunshine, moderate temps year-round. The traffic was awful, but you had to expect that in any sprawling urban area. And he loved to travel. Traveling around with a rock band, he’d see more of America—and the world—than he’d ever imagined. The job she’d offered him was a perfect fit for his skills and experience. It was almost too good to be true, falling into his lap like this.
Tonight, he would drive up to her front door. Bring her flowers, ring her doorbell. And then, in front of assorted mutual relatives, he’d take her out on a real date. Not hanging out at his trailer watching rented videos and eating popcorn. Not having hot monkey sex for half the night and a pizza from Ralph’s for breakfast. This date would include dinner at a classy restaurant in Portland, drinks, possibly a first-run movie, and a public debut as a couple.
You have it backwards, Lindstrom. The date’s supposed to come before the sex.
It was a little late for that now.
Mikey finished his paperwork, signed himself out at the duty board, then took the cruiser keys from their hook and headed out for morning patrol. He got his travel cup refilled at Dunk’s, flirted with the girl at the window until she turned a becoming shade of pink and then probably ran off to tell her friends that the grim and silent Officer Mike Lindstrom had actually smiled at her this morning.
It was a gorgeous morning, and he lowered his window and let summer roll in, warm and fragrant and filled with possibility. His little town was in fine form this morning, from the smell of green grass and flowers to the flag flying high and proud outside the American Legion Hall. He checked the back door of the hardware store, which didn’t open until ten, reminded a couple of kids on bikes that they were supposed to travel with the traffic, not against it. Waved to Martha Grimes, on her way to work at Gilley’s Five-and-Ten, where she’d run a cash register since before he was born.
Outside the Jackson Diner, battered pickup trucks were lined up in a row, the usual suspects inside, trading quips with Stella, the morning waitress. He continued on, rolling past a half-mile of scrub brush and wetlands. On the left sat Gunther’s place, uncharacteristically deserted for this time of day on a Tuesday. Normally, there would be a car or two at the gas pumps, customers picking up a quart of milk, or the morning paper, or one of the world’s best doughnuts that were trucked in every morning from a bakery in Lewiston.
Mikey craned his neck as he passed, saw that the lights were off and the store wasn’t open. He checked his mirror, then hit the brakes, made a three-point turn, and went back. Where the hell was Gunth? He must have really tied one on last night. Mikey’d seen Gunther hung over on more than one occasion, but never so far gone that he couldn’t open the store.
Let him stew in his own juice for a while. It’ll be good for him.
He parked, climbed the concrete steps, and peered through the glass. The place was deserted. Mikey walked around the back, where Gunther’s car sat in its usual parking spot. He banged on the door, tried the knob, found it locked. He knocked again. This time, he heard faint barking from upstairs.
Uneasy now, he pulled out his cell phone and called Roy Crane, explained the situation, and asked if he had a key to the store.
Five minutes later, he and Roy entered through the front door. The overhead bell, tinkling a greeting, sounded eerie in the midst of all that silence. Roy followed him to the door in the back that led to the stairwell. They stood at the foot of the stairs, staring up at the door to Gunther’s apartment. “Gunther?” he called.
There was no response except his own voice, echoing back from hard plaster walls.
He handed Roy the keys. “Hold these,” he said, “and wait for me here. I’m going up.”
There was no reason for the dread that filled him, increasing with each step he took toward that closed door. It’ll be good for him. Mikey paused at the top, knocked once, and waited. When there was still no answer, he opened the door and stepped into the kitchen.
It was the silence that struck him first, the same absolute silence he’d experienced after the bomb blast that had taken his leg and the life of the woman he loved. On the table, a sheet of paper, weighted down with a rock, fluttered in the breeze from the o
pen window. From eight feet away, the words jumped out at him: TEMPORARY PROTECTION ORDER. He moved closer, read Jenell’s name. And closed his eyes. The damn phone call. Gunth had taken it too far when he called her. She’d retaliated the only way she knew how.
A small white envelope, laid on top of the restraining order, blocked the rest of the words. Scratched across the front, in Gunther’s wobbly handwriting, was a single word: Mike.
No, he thought. No.
He passed the locked gun safe and entered the bedroom. Gunther lay face down on the bed, Spike curled tight against his side. The dog growled. Then, recognizing him, Spike gave a feeble wave of his tail and whimpered.
Scattered across the night table were a half-dozen empty pill bottles. He’d taken the key to the gun safe, but he’d forgotten about the pharmacy in Gunther’s medicine cabinet. The truth was that he hadn’t been thinking about Gunther when he took that key. He’d been thinking about Paige. Dazed, he reached out a hand. Just to be sure. But he didn’t need confirmation. He’d seen death before. It wasn’t hard to recognize. Not when you’d been to war.
But he checked anyway. Gunther’s flesh felt cold. Rubbery. He’d been dead for hours. Rigor mortis had already started to set in.
I think you don’t give a damn any more. I think you’ve thrown in the towel. I think you’re headed for total destruction. And if that’s where you have to go, I can’t stop you.
Except that he could have. If he’d taken those pill bottles. If he’d answered the goddamn phone last night. He knew Gunther was spiraling downhill. Had been spiraling for months.
This is on you. You could’ve prevented this.
Spike whimpered again. Mikey scooped up the shivering dog and cradled him to his chest. “It’s okay,” he said to the Chihuahua. “You’re safe with me.”
And then he called Dispatch.
* * *
“I’M PLACING YOU on leave. One week, starting immediately.”
Hunched over Gunther’s kitchen table, still holding the dog, it took him a few seconds to focus on Teddy’s face, a few more before the words sank in. “I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t need any time off.” His voice came out sounding like it was underwater.
Face the Music: Beyond Jackson Falls Book 1 Page 26