Woke Up Dead

by Tina Wainscott

  Claustrophobia set in at the mere thought of round-the-clock Armand. “No, I can’t allow you to do that.” She moved free of his grasp and walked toward the house. “Sam gave me the number of a guy who guards people for a living.” She only hoped the guy couldn’t do it.

  “I’m surprised you’re not hiring Sam. You seem awfully fond of him lately. Honestly, I feel like he’s always been around us, haunting us like a ghost.”

  Maxine stopped so abruptly Armand walked into her. “What did you say?”

  He cringed, taking her surprised statement as an invitation to a fight. “All I’m saying is that it seems as though he’s always been between us. You talked about him from the day we first met, how he didn’t make you happy, how he’d done this, hadn’t done that. At first I thought it was good that you obviously didn’t have any lingering affection for the man you used to be married to. But you just kept talking about him until I felt I knew him without ever setting eyes on the man. The banana shakes he ate for breakfast, that he stirred his coffee with a pen, that his handwriting was an archeologist’s challenge. Goodness, I felt as if I’d been married to the man. Now he’s in our lives physically. You were with him tonight.” That last spoken with more accusation than the rest.

  She tilted her head, her eyes widening. “You don’t think it was possible that…I was in love with Sam before all this happened, do you?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Just asking your opinion. Do you think I might have been in love with him before all this? You know, like so deep inside I didn’t even know it?”

  His eyebrows wrinkled in thought and indecision. “In my worst hours of insecurity maybe, but I didn’t want to believe that, since you were marrying me. That’s why I never said anything about it before. But now…” He shook his head, giving her a disappointed look. “You were seeing him tonight obviously.”

  He wasn’t going to let that one go.

  “I was hiring him to investigate the first accident.”

  “Let me hire someone else, someone not personally involved with us.”

  “No. I want Sam.” She took a quick breath, those words fraught with meaning that had nothing to do with his profession. “Sam is the best. You can’t tell me who to hire for my own murder. I mean, attempted murder.”

  She stalked into the house and headed straight to the phone. Sam had tried to write the man’s name and number down neatly. As the phone rang on the other end, she found herself tracing his numbers with her fingertip. Armand hovered behind her, looking ready to disconnect the phone at any moment.

  “‘lo,” a man’s voice answered. The static on the line indicated he was on a cellular phone.

  “I need to speak to a Mark Lohman.”

  “You got ‘im, honey. What can I do for you?”

  She decided to let the ‘honey’ thing pass without comment. “I was referred to you by Sam Magee for your body-guarding services. I guess that’s the way you say it. You’re not available to do that right now, I bet, are you?”

  Silence greeted her for a moment. Okay, so she’d worded it in a strange way. “Well, actually I’m on a case right now. I might be done in about a day or so when the trial’s over. I can recommend someone else I know is available.”

  “No, I know someone who can handle it. Thank you very much. Very, very much.” She turned to Armand after placing the phone on the hook. “I can’t stay here another night. I’ll probably wake up with a knife up my nose.”

  She walked into the bedroom and pulled down a suitcase that looked like something Maxine-the-first might own. She started throwing clothing into it, including a drawer full of more lace panties. Armand watched in confusion.

  “Well, let me come with you then. Where are you going, anyway? Who do you know that can handle it? Are you going to tell me anything?”

  She turned to Armand, putting her hands on his shoulders the way Sam had done to her earlier. “Telling you might put your life in danger,” she said in a low, grave voice.

  “What?”

  “If you know, someone may try to kill you for the information. I can’t put you at that kind of risk, Armand. I care about you too much. I know things are…tense between us right now. Maybe this time apart will be good for us.” She tried to look upset at the prospect of leaving. “We can take this time to look inside ourselves and see if our lives are headed into the directions that destiny has charted.”

  Armand blinked, then shook his head slightly. “But I will see you?”

  “Of course.” They had to keep investigating, after all. “I’ll call you.”

  “When?”

  Grabbing up her jammed suitcase, she hauled it to the door. “Soon. Mr. Wiggles will keep you company.” Then she left, feeling both bad and great at the same time. Armand stood at the doorway and watched her pull away, probably looking as blue as she had looked watching Sam leave. Geez, was this all screwed up.

  Maxine had never been to Sam’s apartment, because he lived on a second floor of a building without an elevator. He’d invited her for dinner once, but, as usual, her first question had to be if his apartment had wheelchair access. He’d had to think about it before admitting it did not. When he’d offered to carry her up the stairs, the thought of putting him out like that had sent her into a hundred babbling excuses about why she couldn’t have dinner with him at his apartment. He’d never asked her again. She would never give up a chance like that again.

  He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to guard her body. He’d get her heart and soul in the bargain.

  As it turned out, Sam didn’t live in an apartment building at all. Maxine glanced down at the address she’d written down, then back up to the warehouse-turned-shops-and-apartments. Not far from the office, this area too was going through renovation. Unfortunately, the old buildings hadn’t complied with the Americans with Disabilities Act. Not a ramp in sight, nor an elevator.

  Even now, she could feel the frustration boiling inside her. Locked out. Excluded. Now she took those stairs with a vengeance, hauling the large suitcase up with her. No matter the struggle, she relished each step. Music drifted beneath his door, buoying her heart with hope that he was home. Blues. She was tired of having the blues. Now she wanted the reds and the pinks. Anything but white.

  She heard Romeo bark at her first tap-tap on the door, and then the music lowered. She knocked again. Sam opened the door and stared at her for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure she was really standing there. Probably hoping she wasn’t. His hair was slightly damp, and he wore nothing but sweatpants. The sight of his bare skin, especially on a chilly night, stopped her words in her throat. His skin looked creamy and soft in the warm light, but the muscles of his chest looked hard and capable. The warmth inside his apartment gushed out and enveloped her, heating her cheeks even more.

  “Hi, Sam,” she said, not holding back the smile. She knelt down and scratched Romeo’s head. “Hello, sweetie.” Then she stood again.

  Sam was not smiling, especially when he looked down and caught sight of her suitcase. “Running away from home?”

  She remembered that wicked puppet asking her that in the closet. “In a matter of speaking. Your friend couldn’t help me. Now I’m hiring you.” Before he could say a word, she pushed forward with her bag in tow, forcing him to move out of the way. She met his flushed expression with a determined look. “Sam, I don’t care what you say, I’m not leaving and I’m not talking to anyone else. You’re the only person who can keep me safe.”

  “Maxine, I told you—”

  “That you didn’t feel able to protect me because you couldn’t keep a woman from falling down the stairs? Sam, what are you, superhuman?” All those years of watching quietly were behind her. “So what if you can’t fly at the speed of sound, see danger through a door, sense every catastrophe in the world? That makes you incapable of protecting one woman who needs you?”

  He just stared at her for a moment. Finally he stuck his hands in his pockets. “My heart i
sn’t in it anymore. That’s what makes me a bad choice for protecting you.”

  She took a step closer, inhaling the scent of fresh soap and fresh male. “Then you’d better damn well put your heart into it, because I’m here, and you’re not getting rid of me. Show Jennie that you’re not going to let her death ruin your life. How do you think that would make her feel? Do you think you’re honoring her somehow? Sam, you’re the same man you were last month, last year. Maybe life will be different without her, but life will go on, and it will pass you right on by if you let guilt drag you under.” Her chest filled with determination and wonder that she could stand up to him like this. That she could risk his friendship and protection by pushing his buttons.

  “You have no right to lecture me, Maxine,” he said in a low voice.

  “Caring about you gives me that right. Don’t tell me not to care about you, Sam. I can’t do that.”

  He slowly rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, narrowing his eyes at her. “What is this really about?”

  “It’s about you keeping me alive. And in a way, it’s about me keeping you alive, too,” she said in a softer voice.

  “What has gotten into you?”

  Maxine smiled. If he only knew, but he couldn’t, not ever. “Life has gotten into me.” Along with love. She could feel it swelling inside her, pushing at the edges of her being. Not too fast, girl. “Thank you, Sam.”

  “I haven’t said I’d do it yet.”

  She smiled. “I wasn’t giving you a choice, remember?”

  “Hm,” he mumbled, lifting his eyebrow. Glancing at her luggage, he said, “Well, seeing as I don’t have much choice, I suppose I’ll take your case. I state right here for the record,” he said derisively, using Armand’s tone, “that I don’t think this is a good idea.” He pointed a finger at her. “I don’t want you lecturing me anymore. I recall all too well how you did that when we were married, and we’re not married anymore. What are you doing?”

  Maxine had moved forward and hugged him. “I think they call this a hug. As in thank you, your help means the world to me, I promise I won’t be a pain in the butt.”

  She’d barely gotten comfortable when he moved away. “You’re welcome, though I have a feeling I’ll regret this, and I know you’ll be a pain in the butt anyway.”

  Maxine had been so involved with Sam himself, she just now got a chance to look around at his place. It was basically one large room with high ceilings and open metal beams above, and natural finish wood floors. A series of art deco screens surrounded what might be the bedroom. A bathroom was built out to the right of that, and the lower roof over that sported various items such as a neon cactus and a ceramic cowboy hat. The kitchen was only separated from the rest of the room by a long, curved counter with a granite surface.

  In the overall sense, it was neat; neater than the office. In the small places—the cabinets, corners and shelves—his true self crept through.

  “This is nice,” she said, wondering if Maxine-the-first had ever been there. He had bought the place two years ago. Probably not, then. “I can sleep on the couch.”

  “No, take the bedroom.” He picked up her suitcase and walked through a division in the screens. “It’s got more privacy than the couch, and I remember how you are about having your space.”

  She followed him in, her stomach tightening at the sight of the large bed that dominated the area. It had no frame, so it sat directly on the floor. Sam slept there. Now she would. “No, I can’t kick you out of your bed. I’ll take the couch.”

  He dropped the suitcase on the bed where it sunk in among the swampland of black sheets. “Don’t argue with me. Take the bed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m afraid I only have the one set of sheets. I wash them and put them right back on the bed. When they wear out, I buy another set. It’s late to wash them now, though, so remind me to throw them in the washer tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine. Really.”

  He nodded, then walked over to a wood contraption that served as an open-aired closet with built in drawers. With one arm, he compressed his clothes and made space for hers. “There’s room in the bottom drawer, too. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Sure.” How many times had she dreamed of such an evening, lounging around sharing wine and talk? She’d never invited him to her place; the modifications pointed out how different she was, and how things had to be altered for her use.

  Music drifted through the air, a low, sensual saxophone that reverberated inside her and coiled through her veins like a drug. Glasses clinked together as Sam popped open a bottle of wine and poured a glass for her, a refill for himself. He walked over with the glasses.

  “Have a seat. Seeing as you’ve already made yourself at home, you might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  She didn’t detect any malice in his words, or even sarcasm, so she walked over to the living room. The wrap-around black leather couch offered the sitter the opportunity to watch the large screen television angled in the corner or the crackling fire. At the V, it was wide enough to make for a cozy place for two. She chose the fire, taking the glass from Sam as he sat down a couple of feet away from her and propped his bare feet on the glass coffee table. He had nice feet, and she wasn’t particularly a foot person. Her gaze kept drifting to his chest and the way the light from the flames played over his skin.

  “It’s warm in here,” she said, pulling her sweater away from her neck. “Think I’ll go change.” She walked into the bedroom, noting the gaps between the screens that allowed little privacy in the bedroom despite Sam’s intentions. Opening her suitcase, she hung up a few of the things she’d brought, then chose a soft turtleneck shirt and cream colored leggings. Maxine had some nice stuff; she’d hated to leave so much behind in Armand’s closet, but she’d go back to get it later.

  She started to strip off her sweater, then looked up to see Sam’s profile as he sat on the couch. Sheesh, he could turn his head and see her. She shifted a few feet to the left, but that left her in the pseudo-doorway. Finally, she found a small place where he couldn’t see her and quickly changed.

  “Did you think I was going to peek?” he asked, a slight smile on his face when she emerged.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I saw you shifting back and forth, looking out through the cracks. Through my peripheral vision,” he added at her accusing look. “Hey, it’s in my blood. I can’t help but notice things. Especially things that are out of the ordinary.”

  Maxine sat down in her spot again. Romeo jumped up between her and Sam, curling up with his chin on his paw. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “So, I’m out of the ordinary, am I?”

  “Very.” After taking a sip of wine, he set it down on the glass block coffee table. He propped his arm on the back of the couch and faced her. “What bugs me is that I can’t figure you out.”

  Just the way he looked at her made her heart tumble, and combined with his words and that bare chest of his, it was doing somersaults. “What do you mean?”

  “During the time we were married, and in the years afterward, all you ever talked about was having things: status, money…stuff. I can’t say that was the downfall of our marriage, but it sure didn’t help in the compatibility department. I admit I wasn’t perfect husband material, especially with the hours I put in at the agency. But now you have everything you want. That house…” He shook his head. “The decor leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s big, in the right part of town, and has a maid to keep it clean. I’m sure your little Italian fellow would let you put in ten flowered couches, as long as they weren’t pink.” He pinched the bridge of his nose like Armand had done. “He’s a different sort, but he’s rich, and he obviously adores you.” He leaned his cheek against his hand. “He can’t be too happy about you being here with me.”

  Maxine shook her head. “No, he isn’t. I’ve probably finished my relationship with him actually.”

 
“See, this is what I mean. Unless you think he’s the one who’s doing this.”

  “No, I don’t. He wanted to be my bodyguard, but I declined.” She paused for a moment, trying not to let her smile show. “He thinks I’m in love with you.”

  Sam laughed. Laughed. “Well, it’s bound to put a strain on a relationship when your fiancé is hanging around her ex-husband.”

  “He thinks I was in love with you before all this. Because I talked about you a lot.”

  He laughed again, this time more softly. “Well, I’m sure you set him straight about that. Besides, you were probably talking about how my business was more important than our marriage, how I wouldn’t give you a respectable life. And my bad habits.”

  Maxine thought it was terribly ironic that Maxine-the-first had been in love with her ex-husband. She probably didn’t even know it. Obviously Sam thought the prospect was out of the question. He’d pretty much shrugged off the words that represented her stunning realization of earlier.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked, watching her with interest.

  “Just how funny it is, Armand thinking that.” She pulled her gaze from his, finding it harder to swallow with him so close and watching her.

  The entertainment center took up most of the wall to her left. It was filled with electronic devices and stereo components, a few framed photographs, more knickknacks. Her gaze shot back to the photograph on the middle shelf, and before she knew it, she was walking across the space between and holding it in her hands. It was a picture of Jennie in the kitchen—her old kitchen—caught off-guard but smiling, a spot of flour on her cheek. Her heart was up in her throat when she turned around to face Sam. She’d never given him a picture of herself.