Falling Grace

by Melissa Shirley

  Chapter 24

  Spending the night with Jamie, connecting with him, falling for him, scared me on many levels. I’d never experienced this kind of magnetic pull toward another person, never wanted to be connected, but something about him made me yearn for more. Not just the sex, although, I would never say no to that. I enjoyed every part of our night, the talking and laughing, not to mention the cuddling and silliness between go rounds.

  He pushed his bowl away. “That was the worst oatmeal I’ve ever tasted.” But he said it with a smile.

  “Well, that’s because they were mashed potatoes. I didn’t have oatmeal.” I shrugged as I cleared the dishes to the sink. “I thought I owed you food after that shower.” Long, soapy, and steamy from more than the heat of the water.

  As I rinsed the dishes, he stood behind me, nuzzling his chin into the bend at my neck. He wrapped his arms wrapped around my waist. “You don’t cook much?”

  “No.” I turned around, put my wet hands on his chest, leaving damp prints as I slid them up to clasp behind his neck. “That’s bad, right?”

  “I happen to be a wonderful chef. And my mum owns a restaurant. You won’t starve.”

  “You are a man of many talents.”

  He walked backward to a kitchen chair and sat, pulling me on top of him. His lips teased mine as his hands skimmed my side, landed on my hips, and pulled me more fully into place.

  “I can’t get enough of you.” His ragged breath blew back my hair as I kissed my way across his neck to his shoulder and rocked my body against his. I didn’t want him to ever feel like he’d had enough, because God knew I never would.

  Scooting back the tiniest fraction I could manage, I unfastened his jeans and shoved my hand inside. He let his head fall back, his eyes close. After a minute, I moved off him, pulled him to his feet. He looked down at me and sucked in a loud breath as I dropped to my knees to tug his pants down, never taking my gaze from his.

  He gripped the table behind him as I took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the moist tip.

  “Grace.” He moaned my name as his hand fisted in my hair, holding me in place. I increased the pace, then slowed, teasing until he blew apart and his body sagged. When I swept a kiss across the inside of his thigh and he jumped, I giggled like a giddy schoolgirl.

  “So sensitive.” I towed his jeans up as I stood and pressed my lips to his cheek, then grinned as he wrinkled his nose and wiped his cheek.

  He pulled me in close, buried his face in the crook of my neck, and nipped gently at my throat. “That was amazing.”

  “You inspired me.”

  Pulling back, he framed my face with his hands, kissed me softly. “You’re more than I could have ever imagined. More than I probably deserve.” The sadness in his eyes didn’t match the moment. I opened my mouth to ask about it, but he quickly cut me off. “How about I take us out for a real meal?”

  “You didn’t love my mashed potatoes?”

  He grinned. “They, like you, were perfect, but after last night and now, I need to replenish my energy supply.”

  “I’ll go change.”

  After the quickest quick-change I’d ever managed, I stepped out of the bathroom to find him on the phone, his back to me.

  “That’s ridiculous, Blane. She’ll never believe you.” I stepped behind the wall, the busy body in me always on duty. “Well, that’s your problem with your wife. Leave her out of it. Leave me out of it.”

  He gripped the phone in both hands as though trying to choke the life out of it, then pressed it back to his ear. Anger radiated off him as he lowered his voice. “I can’t pretend to be you and I won’t. Not anymore. I care about this girl, and I’m not messing it up to help you out of a jam you never should have been in.” He ran a hand through his hair and stepped out of my line of sight. “No. I don’t want to see Mum get hurt.” I leaned in to hear better. “Fine. I’ll be there in a little while.” He ran his finger over the screen, and his shoulders rose high with a deep breath he whooshed out as I laid a hand in the middle of his back.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” He wrapped me in his arms, rested his cheek on the top of my head. “Just a work thing. Nothing to worry about.”

  I nodded and stepped back. We’d had all the sex I could manage for the day, and I couldn’t think of a single activity inside my house that wouldn’t lead us back to my bedroom. A ray of light snuck its way in through the curtains at the window. “How about that walk now?”

  “It was a run earlier.”

  “I changed my mind.” I shrugged. “Maybe I want to hold your hand, walk next to you and talk.”

  But the air in the room changed. No longer light and playful, he’d gone dark, shielded himself with a moody cloud. “I should go.”

  Almost willing to beg him not to lie to me, to stay with me, I nodded. “Okay.”

  I followed him to the door, leaned against the edge with one hand over my head after he stepped through. On my front porch, he turned, cupped my face with his hand. “I meant everything I said to you, Grace.”

  “You could blow off work.” The bubbles in the pit of my stomach told me almost as much as the sadness in his eyes, and desperation crawled into my heart. “You don’t have to go.”

  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he drew away and turned to leave. Without so much as a look back or even a wave over his shoulder, he strolled across the street, climbed into a police car, and drove away. I shut the door and plopped onto the couch.

  The walls in my house grew smaller for every minute I sat in them. I grabbed my shoulder bag, stuck my case file, phone, and a couple notepads inside, then set off to do what I did best--ignore the things that bugged me.

  * * * *

  I drove through town to the outskirts, maneuvered onto the highway, and picked up speed. Life would have been much better had this pitiful town had its own Starbucks. I needed a double shot mocha, something served by a barista who didn’t care about the day, the week, or the month I’d had. Just served the coffee and waited on the next customer without the personal chit chat of a mom and pop diner. I drove into Dallas, commandeered a table at the first Starbucks I saw, and lifted my overstuffed bag onto the table.

  No one cared that I buried myself in the files spread out on the table for four. Three hours later, I had two tablets full of notes and questions for the Quinns. I had Post-its stuck to the photos, and no matter how many times I looked at it, something about that closet bothered me. It gnawed at me until I finally brought the photo closer to my face, held it up and examined it from every angle. Then it hit me.

  I shoved everything back into my bag and raced outside as though the devil himself aimed his pitchfork at my ass.

  More than an hour later, I pulled up in front of the Quinn house and left the car door open as I raced inside, phone in one hand, picture in the other. I dialed Charity, excited about my discovery.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I ran down the hallway, bypassing the other doors until I stood in front of his closet. I shoved an overflowing toy box to the side and there, in the space behind it, a wooden panel with a key hole. “Son of a bitch.”

  I tried prying it open with my fingernails, but the clasp stuck like it had been nailed into place. Shoving a bobby pin into the key slot, I prayed the tumblers would give, but to no avail. With no other choice, I shoved the clothes on the rod over my head out of the way and kicked, thankful for the running shoes I’d worn. After about ten minutes of putting all my strength into an attack, the wood splintered enough that I could grab it and pull, leaving a hole. I shuffled out of the closet, reached into my bag for a pair of gloves--Charity insisted I have my own supply--then shoved my hand inside the hole I’d kicked through. Using the light on my phone, I lit up the dim space. “Oh no.”

  With the clothes on my lap, I leaned back and wished it had been anything else hidden in the false wall of the closet. I laid them on the floor and used my phone t
o photograph them, front and back, together, then each piece separately. Every minute I sat there inside the closet, every picture I snapped, choked a new piece of life out of me. The caked blood had cracked over time, and the clothes had hardened. I closed my eyes and said a prayer. Life had taken a turn for the worse, and this time, winning would break me.

  * * * *

  After parking in front of my apartment, I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone and walked down the street. I strolled first away from the bar, then toward it, with steps much quicker than a few minutes earlier. As I walked, the horror of Emily Quinn’s last thoughts, the last thing she realized, slammed into me with full force, the eyes she’d looked into as she took her last breath, the terror she must have felt.

  I opened the door and walked straight to the bar. Ignored, yet again, I leaned over, grabbed my own glass and a bottle of whiskey, the cheap kind, and poured a big shot before anyone noticed.

  “You can’t do that.” A bartender I’d never met and didn’t care to win over with my bubbly personality snatched the bottle off the counter and held out his hand for money.

  I rooted around in my purse, pulled out my American Express, and slapped it into his hand. “Now, put the bottle down and walk away.”

  He shoved the card next to the cash register then resumed ignoring me as though I wore a leper’s shroud rather than designer jeans and a Bon Jovi T-shirt.

  As I drank, it became easier to forget all I knew, easier to lose myself in the bottom of my glass, right up to the moment someone tapped my shoulder. I peered up through one open eye. “Oh, we have to stop meeting like this.” I smiled and ran a finger down his bare arm.

  His twangy voice told me I’d been mistaken. “Well, sweetheart, you don’t leave me much choice when you won’t take my calls.”

  With a hand at my back, he spun the stool until my knees were rested at the top of his thighs. He put a hand on each side of my waist and lifted. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  I hugged my messenger bag with the evidence I’d taken from the Quinn house to my chest. “Where are we going?”

  “Just getting some air, sweetheart. Then I’ll tuck you into bed, and you can pretend I’m my brother and give me some of what you gave him last night.” He guided me to the door and helped me outside with a hand on my back.

  I pushed him off me, stumbled, and caught myself with the backrest of a bench along the sidewalk. “You’ve had enough of me. Go home to your wife.”

  “Oh, I will, but first we need to talk.”

  “I’m with Jamie now.”

  He pursed his lips, nodded twice. “Of course you are.” He wrapped his fingers around my arm and squeezed, pain radiating up through my shoulder, down to my wrist. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t have anything to say, Blane.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his mouth compressed as he bent at the waist to put his nose against mine. To anyone passing, we probably looked like lovers about to share a kiss, but there was something sinister in his stance, in his eyes. “Then you’ll listen. Drop this case or someone is going to get hurt.”

  Even without the ability to stand on my own or hold my head straight on my shoulders, I recognized the danger behind his words. “If that’s a threat, Blane, I’m not scared. You’re nothing but some pathetic married guy who has no idea how to satisfy a woman.” Shaking with anger, I pushed him back again and stood, almost straight. “No wonder your wife left you. And for your information, you could take a lesson or two from your brother. I’m sure Valerie would appreciate it.”

  He stepped closer, tangled his fingers in my hair, then gave it a little yank. “He’s a liar, Grace, and you’re too stupid to see it. He’s the one tampering with juries and planting evidence. He wears my suits and sleeps in bed with my wife trying to be me. Then he leaves my house, calls you up, and takes you to bed like the cheap whore you are.”

  “Careful there, Tex. Your charm’s fading.”

  “And my brother’s not your knight in shining armor. We’re the same, me and him, right down to our DNA.”

  “Bullshit, Blane. He’s twice the man you are.”

  “Where do you think he’s at right now? Call him. See if he doesn’t answer his phone in my voice so my wife has no clue which one of us she’s fucking.”

  My gaze wobbled but found his as I pulled out my cell, then punched a number into the screen.

  “Oh, you have him on speed dial. That’s sweet.”

  I shoved against his chest, but he held on as Jamie answered. “Hello.” I closed my eyes as his lilt adopted a slur. “Hello?” I hit end. Shit. Jamie. What had he said into the phone that morning when he spoke to Blane? It escaped me, just out of my reach.

  “He’s with my wife right now, pretending to be me.”

  I closed my eyes and the world spiraled. His hand, still fisted against my scalp, held me upright. “Let go of me, Blane, or I’ll scream. I mean it.”

  With one last jerk, he let me go, pushed me forward, and I fell to my knees.

  “Gutter’s right over there waiting for you, Grace.” He squeezed my cheek, forced me to look at the curb. “Why don’t you go crawl into it and save me the trouble of kicking you there.”

  “Fuck. You. Blane.”

  He walked away laughing before I stood, shoved my phone into my back pocket, gathered my bag onto my shoulder, and weaved my way home.

  Chapter 25

  The shrill beep of my alarm clock--no, I’d broken that. I sat up, coughing and sputtering in a thick haze of smoke billowing under the door to my bedroom. What was the rule? A child’s song came to mind. Head and shoulders, knees and toes. No. That wasn’t it. Stop, drop, and roll. It had something to do with fire, I rolled across the floor to the door, felt the knob, singed my skin on the metal. Shit.

  The spaces in my room containing pure air shrunk by the second, and I couldn’t think, couldn’t figure a way out. “Help!” My pathetic rasp went unheard as I struggled to the window, reached a hand out, and fought to get closer. Still inches, or feet, maybe miles short of my goal, I hacked until I couldn’t raise a hand. I laid flat against the floor, knowing death waited for me, had finally caught up with me. My mind screamed for me to get up and run, to find a place where the air was thinner and I could breathe, but my limbs weighed me down. I couldn’t move. My heart ached for the things I would never do, the wedding I would never have, the children I would never carry. I said a quick prayer for whatever sins I committed and resigned myself to my fate.

  * * * *

  “She’s waking up.” The voice broke into my death and pulled me back. My chest hurt, my arm ached, and a blur of white noise rang through my ears.

  I tried to speak, held up a hand that weighed too much. My eyes stayed blissfully shut, blocking out the thousand sounds whirring around me. I sank back against a pillow, wishing I could block out everything.

  “Grace, can you open your eyes for me?” A soothing voice I didn’t recognize spoke through the clouds of fog in my mind.

  I tried, struggled to pull them up through sheer strength of will, to see what was happening all around me, Pain splintered through my head. My voice choked on a cough caught by the mask on my face. I pulled it off my mouth and sat up, the violence in my chest hacking out my throat.

  “You’re okay, Grace. You have a bad burn on your arm and you inhaled a lot of smoke.”

  “Is everybody else, okay?” My voice adopted a smoked-too-many-Marlboros rasp.

  “The fire was contained mostly in your apartment. The people upstairs weren’t home and the people next door have some water damage. The sheriff broke his wrist when he carried you out. Try to relax and we’ll get you both to the hospital in a second.”

  “Jamie saved me?”

  The EMT, a girl I guessed to be about twelve, pushed my shoulder back against the gurney. “He’s fine. He’s getting his wrist braced right now then we’ll take you both in.”

  “How did my apartment s
tart on fire?”

  “I don’t know, hon. The arson investigator is in there with the fire chief. You’re a lucky girl.”

  Yeah. I was feeling rather lucky, not counting my house burning down, my hangover clashing horribly with smoke inhalation, and the agony that had replaced my left arm. All of that, along with the fact that Jamie had posed as Blane once again to fool yet another unassuming woman, crashed in on me. Definitely lucky.

  I would have rolled my eyes at my own thoughts, but I couldn’t believe they would be able to fight their way back to the front. Imagining a blank canvas, I tried to clear my mind, then watched it fill up with words…liar, cheat, drunk, death, murder… and my personal favorite… arson.

  With a jolt, I was loaded into the ambulance with an oxygen mask wheezing air into my lungs. Shivers rippled down my body as a sudden cold chill enveloped me and Jamie climbed into the ambulance. “Are you okay?”

  I turned my head, faced the cold white wall. His voice, the warmth, the sincerity, the concern, floated over me, and for a minute, I couldn’t block him out. For a minute.

  “Please, Grace. Talk to me…please.” I tuned out the sound of his voice, ignored the pleading. “At least let me know you’re okay.”

  The pain in his voice softened my anger enough that I decided to answer. “I’m fine.” But the words choked out accompanied by a hacking cough.

  “Your arm is burnt.”

  I lifted the mask off my face and held it away from the EMT trying to wrestle it from my grasp and snap it back in place. “Stop. I can breathe.” I struggled against the restraint keeping me flat, and finding no release from it, turned to face Jamie. “You lied to me. Over and over.”

  “Once.”

  “Where were you tonight?”

  “Home. I smelled the smoke and came to save you.” I rolled my head away. “I saved you, Grace.”

  “I called your phone. Heard you answer in Blane’s accent while you were with his wife.”

  He shook his head, ran a hand over my hair, smoothing it back. “No. It wasn’t me. I don’t have my phone. I lost it this afternoon at the diner.”